“I’ll keep you safe from him, this I vow,” he told her, his voice gentle. “I doubt he’ll ever find us here, in my mother’s house in Stanrudde.”
As much as she wanted to believe him, she couldn’t. “Convince me,” she begged. “Tell me the whole tale and why you believe my husband won’t find me here.”
He hesitated long enough to take her hand in his, entwining their fingers. “Lindhurst had beaten you into unconsciousness before the bishop was moved to offer you the Church’s sanctuary. Your husband defied him, refusing to free you. I challenged him over this and we met, sword to sword. He battled for the right to keep you and to take my life for daring to challenge him. I fought for your right to enter a holy order.”
Philippa stared at him, stunned. “You fought for me?” It was a great compliment he offered her.
Raising her fingers to his mouth, he brushed his lips against the back of her hand. “How could I do otherwise?” he breathed against her knuckles. “You are heart of my heart.”
Joy soared in Philippa. Against all sense, her desire to believe that they could be together grew. “If you’re alive, you must have won the contest,” she said softly, prodding him to continue.
Temric nodded. “I took the day.” There was a new tenseness to his voice.
Joy dimmed. “So, why am I not in a convent?”
For a moment, he studied her, his face taut, his eyes a dull, flat brown. “Because the night before we battled, I learned that Lindhurst feared he’d lose the contest and plotted your death to keep you from the Church. His plan was to make it seem you’d run mad from Graistan and died at the hands of some unknown evildoers as portrayed by his own men. This is why he won’t look for you. I intervened, my mummery convincing him he’d succeeded when he hadn’t.” He lowered his gaze to their joined hands. “To all the world, Philippa of Lindhurst is dead.”
Fear and sorrow roiled in Philippa. “Nay,” she said, shaking her head. “Whatever you’ve done, it cannot work. I know Roger. Unless he sees my body laid into a tomb, he’ll never accept that I’m gone.”
Temric raised his head to look at her. His eyes were hollow, as if something terrible tormented him. “He has the bones he craves.” His voice was quiet and hard.
Horror roared through Philippa. “Tell me you didn’t do murder on my behalf,” she pleaded.
“I did no murder,” he replied, the tone of his voice making his words a vow. His grip on her hand tightened. Grief twisted his mouth. “I was too late to stop her,” he breathed.
Philippa’s heart broke in understanding. “Maman,” she moaned, only to have her heart break anew as she realized the whole of what Temric had said. “Nay! Not by her own hand!”
The pain in his gaze deepened. “I tried to stop her,” he repeated, his voice trailing away into silence.
Tears filled her eyes, then trickled down her cheeks. Temric opened his arms in invitation. Philippa took it, resting her uninjured cheek against his shoulder as he drew her close. “How could she?” she breathed into the soft fabric of his tunic. “She’s left me all alone and damned herself for all eternity on my behalf.”
“Ah love, don’t mourn her too much,” Temric crooned, rocking her gently in his arms. “She sought to buy you life by the ending of her own. In doing so, she gave you to me that I should hold you as my own.”
Philippa drew back from him in stark surprise. “She did that? She knew you were bastard born, yet recommended me into your care?”
He smiled at her, the movement of his mouth tinged with sadness. “Aye, she did. She said I should tell you that she’d asked after me at Graistan, of my habits and character. She said what she’d failed to do the first time, she did the second.”
With his words, Philippa’s grief paled. Edith hadn’t only wanted to buy her daughter a new life. Her mother had made her daughter’s happiness more important than her own pride. It was a precious gift, indeed.
“I hope you won’t be dissatisfied by the man she chose for you,” Temric said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I’ve not much to offer you save a wool merchant’s life. To accept it, you’ll have to discard your Norman blood, meaning from this time on you’ll be only Philippa of Stanrudde, an orphan without knowledge of mother or father.”
As he spoke, the lines of Temric’s face deepened as if his words pained him deeply. Philippa sighed in understanding. If she must shed her identity, so did he. He sacrificed much in order to save her life. Dear God, but it was a terrible risk they took. If their subterfuge was exposed, no one, not even his powerful brother or influential cousin, could save them. Both of them would lose their lives, if for no other reason than the adultery they committed.
“There’s worse yet,” he continued. “You can say nothing of your previous life to my kin. The fewer who know who you are, the safer you and I will be in this new life. Aye, and the safer they will be from retribution.”
“Then I will hold my tongue,” Philippa said, then a tiny laugh escaped her. “Oh, Lord, I can’t believe we’re doing this. We’ll be doomed to hell. Ah well, so be it. At least I know I’ll find my mother awaiting me there.”
With her words, Temric’s face relaxed, his eyes now glowing golden. “Philippa of Stanrudde, I vow you’ll not travel alone in this life or the next. Where you go, I’ll follow.” He hesitated a moment. “Can you call me husband knowing the deception we practice?” It was a flat question.
Startled, Philippa found fear of rejection in his eyes. After all he’d done to save her, what other answer could she give? Nay, there was no other answer she wished to give. Philippa smiled. It was wrong, wonderfully, gloriously wrong.
“Aye, with the greatest of pleasure,” she told him, then added in timid amendment, “but I can’t stand before God in His church and speak vows of marriage to you when I know I’m already wed. Only then does the lie grow too great for my soul to bear.”
Pleasure brought the gold back to Temric’s eyes. “I’d not ask that of you,” he said and again embraced her. “Will you trade a private vow with me? In some place beyond the reach of any church, I’d give you my heart and soul and hear you speak words that bind yours to me.”
Oh, to own this man’s heart! Philippa relaxed against him, nigh on limp in happiness. “I’d like that,” she replied, her voice hushed.
Temric laughed. It was the first time she’d heard him do so. The sound was rich with his love for her. When he pressed his lips to the spot where her neck curved into her shoulder, she sighed in warm reaction. Aye, she’d cleave to him now and worry over her soul later.
At last he drew back to arm’s length and studied her. Humor yet sparked in his eyes. “My, but you’re trusting. How do you know I’ll not someday sue you for bigamy?” he teased.
Philippa only lifted her chin. “Best not attempt that, else I’ll have to name you my abductor.”
He threw up his hands in mock fright as he pretended to tremble. “I bow to your superior threat.”
It was enough to make her laugh. Her amusement died in a gasp of pain. “Oh, Lord, but that hurts,” she moaned. Raising a hand, she pressed gentle fingers to her cheek and temple, wincing with every touch. “Does it look as bad as it feels?”
The man she loved narrowed his eyes as if to critically weigh the merits of her bruising against any others he might have witnessed. “I think I’ve never seen an eye as blackened as yours,” he said at last. “It’s truly an awesome shade of purple.”
“It feels it,” she said with a grimace. Wanting to know so she could better gauge the time it might take to heal, she asked, “How far does the coloring reach?”
With his fingertip, Temric traced the outline of the mark on her face, down her cheek to below her chin, around her ear, over her brow and into her hair. When he took back his hand, he leaned forward to press his lips softly to hers. It was a brief caress.
“Hurry and heal,” he said as he rose. Retreating to the window, he picked up his boots. “When I return I mean to kiss you better than tha
t.”
“Return?” she asked, new fear swirling within her as she watched him don his footwear. “Where are you going?”
Sitting on the window’s ledge, he began to garter the boots to his legs. “I must now ask your patience and understanding,” he said as he worked. “This morn I leave to do business on behalf of my mother, who is newly widowed. My half-brother was to have taken this journey, but he’s been crippled by a fall. Without my assistance, they’ll lose their trade. If that happens, we’ll lose this new life of ours.”
All the pleasure within Philippa died. Temric was abandoning her here, leaving her alone and unprotected among strangers. It was no different than what her mother had done when she gave her favored daughter to Roger. “Don’t go,” she cried in fear.
“Would that I didn’t have to go,” he replied with a shake of his head. “Be at ease. My mother will care for you—”.
“Just as Margaret did?” she interrupted, her terror rising.
“Nay, love. Never that,” he said, returning to the bed to catch her hand in his. “My mother will love and honor you, because I do.”
“Don’t go,” she pleaded, incapable of believing his promise.
He knelt beside the bed, once more stroking her hair. His expression was gentle, his eyes soft. “I know you’re frightened, but you must trust me. Take heart. Peter is here. Do you remember him?”
The image of a lanky youth with fine dark hair sprang to mind. “Aye,” she offered tentatively.
“Then, you won’t be alone, will you?” Temric said, his eyes smiling at her even if his mouth did not. “Courage, my love. I’ll be back in three weeks, maybe four.”
With all her heart, Philippa tried to believe she could survive in this strange place for that long without him. She failed. After all, she’d been only three weeks into her marriage to Roger when he laid the scars upon her. Armed with the familiar careful compliance that had kept her alive at Lindhurst, she might last that long.
“Vow to me you’ll not die on the road and leave me alone,” she cried as a wholly new panic hit her.
Temric laughed. “I do swear.”
“On what?” she pressed. “There’s nothing here on which to swear.”
Again, he leaned over to press his lips to hers. “I swear on the love I bear you,” he breathed against her mouth. “Now, fare you well, little one. Thrive despite my absence, and when I return, we’ll make our vows.”
With that, he rose. Catching up a leather hauberk from the floor near the window, he shot her a final smile, then ducked between the curtains enshrouding this area of the room and disappeared.
Philippa stared after him in despair, sagging against the bed’s head. How could he leave her like this, without family or protector? Why, even the location of the chamber pot was beyond her ken.
In the wake of her terror, a bone-deep weariness rose. Despite her determination to stay awake and vigilant, she slid down to lie upon the mattress. In the next moment, sleep overtook her once more, dragging her down into troubled dreams.
When next she woke, there was a girl of no more than thirteen sitting beside her bed. Petite and blond, the child’s head was bowed over her darning. She was humming to herself as she worked. Since it was foolish to be afraid of one so obviously harmless, Philippa dared to stretch. At the motion, the girl looked up, then smiled.
“Mistress, you’re awake,” she said, sounding pleased. “Master Temric said you’d regained your senses. Do you think you could tolerate some broth and bread?”
“I’d rather the chamber pot,” Philippa replied in English. This time, she was careful to move slowly as she lifted herself back into a sitting position.
The girl’s laugh was a high-pitched giggle. “How silly of me,” she cried, dropping her handiwork into a basket at her feet as she went to fetch the required item. “Here, let me help you,” the child said, as Philippa tried to rise.
Once they’d managed the task and Philippa was again tucked beneath the bedclothes, the girl gave her shoulder a pat. “Now, if you like, I’ll fetch that broth and drink.”
“If you please,” Philippa said shyly, her stomach rumbling in response to the thought of food.
“I’ll only be a moment,” the child promised, then turned without closing the bed curtains behind her. Wooden rings clattered as she shoved aside the enclosing draperies.
Still fighting her fears, Philippa watched the child cross the wooden floor toward an opening that could only be a stairway. The light in the room was diffuse now, suggesting that the sun stood high above the house. Despite that, it was still bright enough to let her see past the set of draperies thrown wide to the opposite side of the room. Another bed stood there with a dark-haired man in it. He lay with his head resting against the headboard, as if he were studying his bed’s fabric ceiling.
Fear shivered through Philippa. The man hadn’t seen her yet, but it wouldn’t be long before he noticed her drapes were open. She snatched her blankets up to her chin. She was naked beneath them. True, Temric wasn’t Roger, but Philippa doubted any man liked another looking upon his woman.
Reaching behind her with one hand, Philippa felt around beneath the pillows. There was no chemise hiding there. She scanned the bed poles. No robe or gown hung from them. Only then did she realize that Temric had left her trapped here without a single rag to call her own!
“So, Temric’s leman finally awakens,” the man across the room said in derisive comment without lifting his head.
Philippa squeaked in alarm at his tone. Were Temric’s kin expecting her to be up before now? What if they thought her lazy and put her out to shift on her own while Temric was gone? “I didn’t mean to sleep so long,” she offered, trying to placate as best she could. “I’m certain I’ll be better on the morrow.”
He made a rude sound, then raised his head to stare at her. Where Temric’s face was all bold planes and hard angles as befitted a man in the prime of his life, a youth’s softness yet lingered in the soft lines of this man’s cheeks. “What care I how well you’ll be on the morrow? I won’t be,” he snapped.
Startled, Philippa stared at him, not certain what he meant.
“Jehan, hold that nasty tongue of yours,” came a female voice from the head of the room. In the next instant, a woman no taller than Philippa, appeared from what must be a stairway. Dressed in gowns of blue and gray, she started toward Philippa. “You’ll be kind to the woman my son brought me.”
Philippa’s fingers clenched into the bedclothes. Temric’s mother! What little courage she might have owned died, leaving only fear behind it. The closer the woman came, the farther she receded into her pillows. When the woman finally leaned into the bed to see her, she was crouched into the bolsters like the mouse she was.
Temric’s dam stopped beside the bed. Like Margaret, her hair was grayed with age. If her skin was yet smooth despite her years, her face was too thin, while pain clung to the pinch of her dark brows. Now that she was close, Philippa could see her garments were too large for her, being belted as best they could be about her waist. There wasn’t the slightest emotion in her dark eyes as she considered her bedridden guest.
Terror rose in Philippa until it filled her mouth with words. “I beg pardon for lingering so long in bed,” she babbled. “I promise I won’t do so on the morrow.”
The woman’s eyes flew wide in astonishment. “Of course you’ll stay in bed,” she retorted. “One who’s been injured as you have must take time to let the brain find its place within your skull again. You’ll stay right where you are for at least a week.”
So great was Philippa’s relief that she sagged against the mattress. Tears for shame filled her eyes. Why hadn’t she trusted Temric when he’d vowed it wouldn’t be the same as Lindhurst here?
Pity filled his mother’s eyes. “Sweet Mary, but they’ve used you hard,” she said, her words reflecting the kindness she’d taught her son. Her face softened as she brushed the stray hairs from Philippa’s face. “Have you be
en sitting here in terror of us all this time? Shame on me for not coming sooner. How it must have seemed to you, you poor chick, trapped here without even a stitch to cover you.”
The endearment was sweet to Philippa’s ears. “Anne of Graistan says that,” she murmured, yet too overwrought to speak any louder.
Temric’s mother smiled. “I suppose she would, being my niece. My sister and I are wont to overuse the phrase. I know you’re Philippa, but do you know that I’m Alwyna?”
“Temric’s mother,” Philippa acknowledged, more to convince herself that this was really happening to her than in any need to confirm the woman’s identity.
Alwyna’s smile broadened at that. “Nay,” she replied, her brown eyes gleaming, “I bore no child named Temric. The lad I gave life to was christened Richard, Richard of Graistan. Temric is what comes of stuttering when I’m in such a rage that I shouldn’t even attempt to speak.” Her laugh was filled with irony. “Once I’d said it, he accepted it in stubborn pride and wouldn’t let it go.”
Philippa only stared at her in shock. Temric was the Richard of her mysterious vision? The feeling of awe grew, until she swore her heart stilled in her chest. Her eyes closed. Temric was the one for whom she’d been commanded to stay alive. That meant God smiled on their union and she could call Temric husband without fear. That meant her mother’s sacrifice hadn’t been in vain.
A new and peaceful emptiness took hold of her. It was a moment before Philippa recognized it. She was free. Roger would never find her again, for God Himself had ordained it.
The feeling was so astounding, the release so complete, she couldn’t bear it. When the blackness again roared up in her, she let herself fall into its gentle embrace. For the first time in twelve years, Philippa slept in peace.
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