Stealing Heaven

by Madeline Hunter

  “That memory will never be made. That kiss is all the warmth you will get from me in this false alliance.”

  She put all of her outrage into the repudiation. He didn’t even blink. If anything, a hint of amusement softened the stern set of his face. The eyes gazing at her became those of a man who assumed he could have her if he wanted to.

  She resented those possessive lights, and the confidence they implied, and his assumption that he could make her weak. She resented even more, however, how the connection began casting a little spell that made her heart sparkle.

  Still furious enough to kill, she strode away. “I will walk back to the castle. If you insist on staying with me, keep well away. I do not want to know you are there. I do not even want to hear your horse’s hooves on the ground.”

  Chapter 14

  All is arranged. Sixty men will ride with us. I called the feudal summons from some of the farms, so the defenses here will not be depleted.“

  Paul sank onto a bench as he gave his report. He had not washed or changed, and his garments and curly black hair showed the sweat and dust of an afternoon of hard riding. The recent visits to the farms had not caused his condition, but rather the earlier hours in the saddle beside Marcus’s.

  Marcus understood why his friend’s eyes appeared dull, and his manner tired and subdued. Making the summons, even part of it, meant that they were going on war footing. The order had been a tacit acknowledgment on Marcus’s part that Carwyn and his bandits would not be easily suppressed.

  He had taken the step after seeing the results of their raiding on the western edge of his estate, and after receiving a messenger from a midland lord saying they had grown bolder in the southern valleys as well.

  Marcus gestured for the attending servant to give Paul some ale. Paul downed the whole cup and wiped his beard on his sleeve. “Been a while. Since an army was formed here, that is.”

  A long while, Marcus thought. Not since his father had gathered one in anticipation of Mortimer’s siege. The young men receiving the call to service during the next few days would remember coming as boys to claim the bodies of their menfolk from that bloody yard. The images of that massacre would be in everyone’s head.

  The last summons had resulted in disaster. Marcus decided it was a good thing that he was not superstitious.

  “Do you think word of the betrothal will change things?” Paul asked. “I can’t see them disbanding because of it, myself, no matter what Stratford thought. He doesn’t know the Welsh, does he?”

  Not as well as Paul did. Although Paul could trace his lineage back to a Norman archer who had come with the Conqueror, most of the men in his family had married Welsh women. Paul probably had as much Welsh blood in him as Nesta.

  “His plan sounds good. Sounds right,” Paul continued. “But it leaves out too much that he doesn’t comprehend, seems to me.”

  It certainly did. First and foremost, it left out the tenacity and intelligence of Nesta verch Llygad. “I do not think they will disband.”

  “Ah, well, maybe it will at least delay things a bit. Confuse them. It feels as if winter will come early, so—”

  “I do not think this will delay things. I think it will hasten them. I am counting on it. I have a feeling that time is my enemy in this. I will force their hand, and see what happens.”

  “Force it as you did the other night?”

  Only Paul and David knew about the potion. And Nesta, of course.

  She had neither spoken to him nor looked at him for two days now.

  “She’ll try to get word to them about how that really was,” Paul said.

  “I hope that she tries. I need to know how she communicates with them.”

  He had allowed her to go into the yard in the mornings, to continue meeting with her farmers. Only now there was always someone watching her, to see if she slipped a message to one of them. So far, none had been passed.

  Paul heaved himself to his feet and gave a groaning stretch. “Bed for me. Those men will start coming tomorrow, and I’ve my work set getting them ready.” He hesitated, and gazed into the hearth fire while his lips pursed. “Won’t be like the last time.”

  Marcus knew that he was not referring to the defeat.

  “Was an English army then, and our people fought like lions, I’m told. This time we go into our hills. Most of the men coming with us are at least partly Welsh, Marcus. What good will they be against their own?”

  “I will not be relying only on them. I fear that before this is over, there will be English enough swelling our ranks. In the meantime, these men will not let us down. They will do their duty.” He caught Paul’s eye. “As we will, my friend.”

  Chagrin flickered in Paul’s expression. He was embarrassed to have his own ambivalence seen for what it was.

  As Paul left the chamber another man, not at all soiled and sweaty, entered.

  “You appear to be a man with much on his mind, Mark. Lordly things, no doubt. I will leave tomorrow and let you have your fun.”

  “You are welcome to stay.”

  “There is war in the air, and I always stay away from that. Sieg is displeased with my decision, however. He thinks if we stay he will get at least one good battle in.”

  “At most one, if I am fortunate.”

  David took some ale from the servant, and then sent the man away. Marcus had learned not to mind the way the merchant would do things like that, as if he normally only pretended to know his place, and felt no need for the lie when among friends.

  David settled himself on the bench where Paul had been. “Your bride spoke with me a while ago. Very courteous and sweet, she was.”

  “Did she try to bribe you to sneak her away?”

  “She offered no money.”

  “If you dare to insinuate that she offered better than money—”

  David raised a calming hand. “Whoa, friend. I would not risk my neck by taunting you thus. She offered no money because she was seeking my money.” He slipped his hand into his pourpoint and withdrew a parchment.

  It was another tapestry design. Marcus unfolded it. It showed a river flowing from top to bottom, with a lady on one side and a knight on the other.

  “The quality is far inferior to the others she sold me. Less care in the coloring and design,” David explained, assuming Marcus couldn’t tell the difference. He could, however. Anyone could see that this design was not one of Nesta’s best.

  “She told me of a merchant in Carlisle who would buy it. That intrigued me, since when she sold me the others she mentioned a merchant in Edinburgh. The woman established an entire trading network from her convent. I told you she would make a great merchant.”

  Marcus fingered the parchment spread on his lap.

  Perhaps… nay, that would make no sense. But Carlisle was not far by sea from Wales…

  “Perhaps not a trading network, David. Perhaps an information network.” He rose and carried the parchment to his table and moved three candles around it. David joined him and they examined the design.

  “I see no letters or symbols. It would have to be the image itself,” David said.

  Marcus studied the lady and knight, separated by the river. Genith and her intended husband? Was this message alerting someone to the failure of that alliance?

  If so, who? Carwyn Hir already knew about it, so it could not be meant for him. Surely the marcher lord who was to have taken Genith’s hand had been told by now.

  He examined the design again. This image might have an interpretation that fit what he knew, but the others had not. What message could be read in the seven virtues and vices, or in that image of Dylan playing his harp in the forest?

  None that he could think of.

  In all likelihood these designs were only what they seemed, a way for Nesta to earn coin.

  He folded the parchment and handed it back. “Bring it to the merchant in Carlisle.”

  “You are sure?”

  He wasn’t sure, but even if it bore
a message he would allow it to go. He had decided he wanted this to unfold now, while he might still control its size and direction, and interfering with a message might only cause delay.

  “Bring it to the merchant. As quickly as your travels permit.”

  David tucked the parchment away. “I will leave before the household rises, so I will make my farewell now. Will you visit London before spring?”

  “If Edward returns, I am sure that I will.” The King would undoubtedly summon the man who had dared to betrothed the King’s lover without permission.

  David smiled in the enigmatic way he had. “I could stay here longer if you like. You are not well practiced in deceit. I could counsel you in that.”

  “My deceits are over, I hope. Now I only have to fathom hers.”

  They clasped arms, and Marcus walked with David to the door. His friend stepped through the threshold, but paused and turned.

  “She will not give it up, you know. Not even for you. The words of love she spoke at the betrothal might be in her heart, but her head does not accept them.”

  It was as clear a warning as David would ever give.

  “Have a safe journey, old friend, and do not spend all your profits on beautiful women.”

  A glint entered David’s deep blue eyes. “Guard your own profits from beautiful women, too.”

  She will not give it up. Not even for you.

  Marcus knew that. He had not needed David to warn him.

  He crossed his arms on the top of the wall as he looked out into the night. In the darkness below he could barely make out the forms of cottages, and the gristmill by its stream, and in the distance the black mounds of the hills that announced the rising of the land to the west.

  The cold was sharp enough that he regretted not bringing a cloak. Paul had been right. The swings from warm to cold that marked the autumn in these parts were already ending. It looked to be an early winter, and a bitter one.

  He thought about Nesta, sleeping in her chamber. She was probably naked, and uncovered because she did not feel the chill. He considered going there, just to see her. Not her body. Images of that were in his head so clearly, so persistently, that he did not need the reality. It would be nice to see her resting, however. To see her face without the veil of anger and resentment that she wore when they met now.

  She will not give it up. He did not expect her to. He knew something about the constancy of women. His own sister had taken up a quest and held to it, clung to it, when most men would have been discouraged. Even her love of a man had not dissuaded her. It was only at the end, when she had won, that Joan rejected the life that had demanded the quest and joined Rhys in another.

  And Joan had won. His presence on this wall was proof of that. What if she had not? And what if the man himself had thwarted her?

  My love has made me a girl again, so that the world appears fresh and new. It fills my heart with sparkling light. The grace of heaven could not be more powerful.

  Beautiful words. Nesta’s words. Spoken at the betrothal with the earnest honesty of someone seeing the depths of her own soul. Stunning words, that he already knew would be the last ones that his mind would hear at the moment of his death.

  Forgotten words. An admission of the heart, but not the head. After the vigil in his bedchamber, David had warned that the potion made one as if drunk beyond awareness. It removed a person’s normal restraints.

  Marcus wondered what words he had spoken while he tested the potion on himself. The ear that forgets what it hears had not said, but considering David’s last words, Marcus could imagine.

  The castle had fallen quiet and the moon had risen high in the sky. Marcus left the wall’s vast embrace of the night, and sought the more intimate one in the garden.

  As he descended he passed the level where Nesta slept, and the urge to go to her almost overwhelmed him. It was not only lust that spurred the impulse. His passion for her was bigger than that. So much bigger that it frightened him.

  The image that he had examined on the parchment this evening floated behind his inner eye. A knight and a lady, separated by a river.

  The farmers looked at her differently. Spoke to her differently. They still greeted her in the mornings with smiles and gossip, but she could tell the betrothal had changed things.

  They were no longer sure of her. Marcus had confused them with that public ceremony, and her willing compliance had been well reported. She could not slice through the lie even though she denied its legitimacy to them over and over again.

  She tried to buy back their faith. She slipped a few pence to children, and gave one of her veils to a girl who was marrying. She made a small design for a woman whose husband was very ill. It showed a cross and two angels, and the woman gratefully took it home to tack up on the wall beside her ailing man’s bed.

  The morning after she handed it over, the woman pulled her aside in the yard.

  “They took it from me. The image. When I left, outside the gate, Sir Paul was waiting and he took the parchment.”

  Nesta had seen Paul in the yard yesterday morning, but had not realized he had been watching her. “Did he give it back?”

  The woman nodded. “Had me wait while he brought it inside, but he was back with it quickly. My husband was grateful for it, my lady, and for the prayers that you said you would say for him.”

  Nesta moved on, and glanced around the yard and wall while she did. Paul was not present today, but she noticed another knight lounging on the steps to the hall. He had been there a long time, now that she thought about it. He seemed to make it a point to look everywhere except at her.

  So, Marcus expected her to send out a message, probably to Carwyn. Did he plan to follow its meandering path as it was handed from one person to another, and discover the rebels’ camp? Intercept it and read it, and have all revealed?

  As she finished visiting with the farmers, she kept one eye on the knight, who kept one eye on her.

  “We got it.” Paul barged into the solar with his triumphant announcement.

  “Got what?” Marcus looked up from some accounts that the steward had left for him.

  “Her message. She was clever, I’ll give you that, but I was watching today, and I saw what she was up to.” He crooked his finger as he backed out the door. “Come see.”

  Marcus followed Paul out to the yard and up to a section of wall that overlooked the gate. Down below a thick group of farmers had been hemmed in by his men. Sir Leonard had pulled a man aside and now methodically probed fingers beneath his tunic and into his sleeve despite the farmer’s howls of indignation.

  “What is he doing?” Marcus asked.

  “Searching for the message. Or rather, parts of it. She is incredible, Marcus. She does not send out one piece of parchment with her words, but many little bits. Look here.”

  He opened his purse and plucked out a tiny scrap. Written on it was only the word “think.”

  Down below, Leonard had let his victim leave, and had called the next farmer forward.

  “I noticed her passing something to one of the men,‘: Paul said. ”Then a bit later, she did it again. Very sneaky, she was, slipping the pieces into sleeves and cowls and such. One could barely tell it was happening, and even the farmers appeared unaware. When they passed through the gate, I stopped them and found these bits. So now we are looking for the rest.“

  Leonard was searching slower than the market was emptying. The crowd now backed up through the gates. The mumble of complaints about the delay grew from a low rumble to a loud roar.

  A woman was next in line. Stout and furious, she stepped forward, planted her hands on her hips, and glared a dare at Leonard.

  He paced around her, debating how to proceed. He stopped behind her and cocked his head. Reaching out, he plucked at the folds of her veil where it bunched on her shoulder. He lifted his hand triumphantly to display a speck of parchment.

  The woman’s indignation dissolved into astonishment.

  “Go do
wn and help him,” Marcus said. “Try and get those wagons out of here before nightfall.”

  “I’ll put several men on it, now that we know her game.” Delighted by his own cleverness, Paul headed for the stairs. “Once we have all the bits, I’ll bring them to you. Won’t be long before we have that message in hand.”

  Late that afternoon Marcus sat in his solar with twenty-six small parchment squares spread out on the table in front of him.

  Each bore one word. He and Paul had been arranging the bits this way and that for hours, trying to see how they should line up.

  It appeared hopeless. He had kept at it because some of those words indicated the message was one that he needed to read. Some scraps contained the words “treason.”

  “plots.”

  “Carwyn,” and “plan.” The rest, however, made no particular sense.

  “This is much harder than I expected,” Paul admitted. His smug glee had left him long ago.

  Of course it was. Nesta had devised this. “There must be hundreds of possibilities.”

  “I still say that if we can determine the first word, it will go easier,” Paul ventured. “Hell, but she is clever.”

  “Too clever. What if one of these pieces was lost, or blown away? Who waited to pluck them from their hiding places?”

  “Could have been anyone, right? If the wainwright helped her, others might too. Or maybe all these farmers knew what she was about, and she pretended they did not to protect them. If so, they would know to remove their bits once they were down the road, and then deliver them to someone.”

  Marcus returned his gaze to the damn words. His humor was not helped much by two of them. For hours now, he had been forced to see “stupid” and “Marcus” in close proximity.

  Paul frowned, and his attention appeared to focus on just those scraps. He picked up “stupid” and, cocking his head with much internal debate, began moving it toward his lord’s name.

  As if he felt Marcus’s stare, he glanced up. Flushing with chagrin, he put “stupid” back down. “Nay, that would make no sense.”

  Giving up, Marcus rose and walked to the window. In the yard below, Nesta and her servant Winnifred were playing with a leather ball. A group of the castle’s girls had joined them, and feminine squeals rang on the stone walls as veils and garments blew around slender bodies. A lot of men and boys had gathered to watch and cheer, and also catch a glimpse of ankles and legs.