The Seasons Series; Five Books for the Price of Three

by Domning, Denise

  Someone else had claimed her as well. Her mouth lifted. Temric.

  From the deepest recesses of her mind woke another masculine image, this one faceless and dark against a halo of bright light. When this man spoke, his words echoed from the inside outward, rather than penetrate her ears. God? Whoever he was, he’d told her to wait for Richard, but who was Richard?

  At last, her swirling memories coalesced. There’d been a trial between Lord Graistan and Roger before the bishop. With that thought came the memory of Father Edwin’s vow to see her convent bound. Philippa sighed and once more glanced about the room before her. A convent, of course. That’s where she was.

  She pushed back the bed curtains, hoping to get a good look at her new home, only to squint as the brightness of day’s light made the throbbing in her head worsen. Pressing careful fingers to her temples to still the pain, she narrowed her eyes and waited for her vision to clear. When it did, she caught her breath.

  A man stood by the arched window, pulling a tunic over his shirt and chausses! If he was here, then this was no convent. The man’s head appeared through the neck opening. Philippa gasped again.

  Temric?! What was he doing here? More to the point, what was she doing here with him?

  She struggled up into a sitting position, only to have her head whirl. Nausea rolled over her. With a groan, she collapsed back against the bed’s headboard. Eyes closed, she cupped her hands to her cheeks as she tried to steady her thoughts. When she finally opened her eyes again, Temric was sitting on the bed beside her, smiling.

  “Good morrow,” he said in the language of the commoners. “How do you feel?”

  Philippa stared at him in disbelief. This had to be a dream. If it was, then there was no harm in answering him.

  “Terrible,” she replied, only to discover her voice was too loud. It made pain stab through her all over again. “I hurt,” she added in a whisper.

  “That’s to be expected,” he replied with a quiet laugh.

  She peered at him through narrowed eyes. This was too real to be dream. She reached out to lay a hand against his chest. He felt solid and warm beneath her fingers. “Am I dreaming?” she asked in confusion.

  His brows rose as he smiled again. “I hope not.”

  Her confusion worsened. “But, if I’m not dreaming this, then how is it I’m with you? Has the bishop given me to you?” Even as she said this, she knew that could never have happened, not when her sister was married to his brother.

  Guilt shot through Temric’s eyes. “Not precisely,” he replied, turning his face away from her as he tugged at the bolsters behind her. “If you insist on sitting up, lean back into these to support you.”

  When he was finished arranging her bolsters, he leaned down to fetch something from beside the bed. It was a wooden cup. “Here,” he said, guiding the cup into her hands. “Watered wine. I expect your mouth is dry as dust.”

  It was. Still trying to puzzle out why he was here, Philippa drained the cup, then returned it to Temric. He set it on the floor, then straightened to catch her hands in his.

  “Now, lay back, little one. It’ll be a day or two before you’ll be steady enough to tolerate sitting upright.” He offered her a quick smile. “Or, at least that’s how it was for me. I’ve taken a blow to the head a time or two.”

  The answer to the puzzle came with another flash of pain. “You stole me from Roger,” she breathed as panic writhed within her.

  Temric’s gaze was shuttered. “I had no choice.”

  Her panic exploded into fear. “You don’t know what you’ve done. He’ll come for me, seeking my death in earnest this time,” she cried, earning another stab of pain for her effort. The image of the vicious way Roger had swung his mother’s stick returned to haunt her. She buried her face in her hands. “God help me, I cannot face him again,” she breathed into her palms.

  “Nor will you have to,” Temric replied. Although his voice low and hard, his hand was gentle as he stroked her hair. “Look at me, love,” he said.

  His endearment made her gasp again, this time in pleasure. There was joy, indeed, in having this man call her his love. She let her hands fall into her lap and looked at him. Temric’s expression was quiet, but confidence filled his dark eyes. When he lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, Philippa leaned her head into his touch. He smiled at this, his eyes taking fire with golden lights.

  “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 her hand’s back. “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 nobility, 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 of 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 that.”

  “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 once more lay 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, sh
e 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 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.”