Winter’s Desire

by Amanda McIntyre, Charlotte Featherstone

  “And for England,” he reminded me pointedly.

  “Yes,” I conceded, “and for England.”

  He folded his arms.

  “Yet, Ranulf, all this time, I had no idea that you conspired to your own goals.” He narrowed his gaze on mine.

  “This was not planned, Benedict,” Sabeline said as she came to my side. She took a deep breath and twisted her long mane of mahogany-colored hair over her shoulder. “It is not Sir Ranulf’s doing. The choice was mine. I came of my own free will with my aim to seduce you,” she said quietly, looking at Benedict. “I wanted you to find me as alluring as the others in this court that you have bedded.”

  Benedict slapped his hand over his heart in mock sincerity. I wanted to wipe that smile from his face, but I needed to hear what Sabeline had to say before I went any further.

  “How very noble. You flatter me, milady, with your efforts to garner my attention.” He stood and walked up to her, tracing his hand softly over her face as he glanced at me. “But you could have simply asked your cousin.”

  Her surprised gaze shot to his. “Margaret?” she asked.

  “Oh, indeed, a delightful distraction,” he responded blithely. “You see, it is Ranulf here who is to receive credit for our first meeting. He ordered me back to the castle to spend the day with you.” He shrugged. “But I found your cousin instead, most receptive to a poor stranger coming in from the cold.”

  Sabeline’s expression grew pale. Her hand shot up and Benedict caught her wrist midair.

  I gripped Benedict’s arm. His brow rose and a smile played on his lips. “I would consider, Ranulf, the pleasure of your company in our bed, once we are wed, if you were to agree, of course. Variety stimulates me.” Benedict offered a short laugh.

  “I would share no woman with you, Benedict. Least of all, Sabeline. What will it take to keep your mouth silent?”

  He clasped his hands behind his back and eyed us both. Now, Sabeline would see the true character of this man.

  “As I see it, there are a number of options open to discussion here,” he stated.

  Benedict knew that the move was his in this game of chess and we were now his pawns. I waited for what diabolical plan he would put forth, knowing it would likely have no benefit to Sabeline or to me. “You stand to lose more if you do not go through with this wedding,” I offered.

  “I am aware that what you say is true.” He shrugged. “Let us be fair. There is only one reason I complied with the king’s desire for this alliance. My apologies, milady, but you alone were never the prize. A happy benefit, perhaps, given enough of my sexual tutoring, but that is all.”

  I lunged at him but stopped short when he drew his short sword and pointed it at my throat.

  “I suggest you think, Ranulf.”

  I straightened and took a step back. We both knew he spoke the truth.

  “You will leave. You have broken the bonds of our trust and I will leave it in your hands how you explain your absence to your English king when he asks how went the ceremony.”

  “You cannot punish him without also punishing me,” Sabeline spoke.

  Benedict’s predatory gaze went to her. “As for you, your silence will be required or I will be forced to reveal this affair to your father at court. Talk of betrayal and sin travels quickly through kingdoms, milady. You would not wish to be the ruin of your father’s house and reputation, would you?”

  “If I do as you say, you must promise that you will care for her, Benedict.”

  His dark, emotionless eyes turned to mine. “I owe you nothing. In fact, you are fortunate I have not run you through as would be my right at finding you in bed with my betrothed.”

  “You do not truly care about her, Benedict,” I countered.

  “Forever the strategist. That is your strength, Ranulf.” He grinned. “Very well, it is true. With Sabeline the heir to her father’s kingdom and wealth, his armies, his lands, automatically become mine once we are wed.”

  “And in alliance with the king, Benedict, they would become England’s,” I said, the realization of his goal beginning to crystallize in my mind.

  “True, but only if I command it. With my army and those of the good baron, I would join those rebels who do not wish to be under English tyranny. We would convert their loyalties, one way or another.”

  “My father would never agree to such a plan,” Sabeline interjected, anger rising in her voice as she bolted toward him, pummeling his body with her fists.

  I took advantage of the distraction, moving quickly to overtake him, but he turned her as a shield, one hand clamped around her waist as he held the knife to her throat with the other.

  “My dear woman, I have no concern that your father will be alive to dispute my plan,” he responded quietly.

  “You will not get away with this,” I warned.

  “I already have. If you do not comply, I have several witnesses who will attest to seeing the two of you together on more than one occasion.”

  “That is a lie!” Sabeline elbowed his stomach.

  “It is your word against many, my beloved.” His gaze turned to mine. “My guards wait to escort you to the edge of the kingdom, Ranulf. We wouldn’t want you to get lost.”

  9

  BETRAYED. NAUSEA ROILED IN MY STOMACH, YET I could only pretend, as instructed, to behave as if all was well.

  “You look pale, cousin. Is it your monthly?”

  Margaret sidled up beside me. I held up my skirts as I hurried with Nuala to my chambers. “I have no more to say to you, Margaret. And I no longer consider you of my blood.” She kept pace with my stride.

  “For reason, I venture, that I was bedded by your intended?” she scoffed. “Would you have preferred it be Sir Ranulf? Did you think I was blind to how he looked at you and how you ran to him at every turn?”

  I halted in my steps. “How dare you—”

  She laughed. “You have no right to pronounce judgment on me.”

  I did not care what my maid heard. If she valued her job, she would turn a deaf ear.

  “You aided him,” I spat, ready to strangle her scrawny neck.

  “I only bedded him, dear cousin. What he did from that point was of his own design.”

  I held my hand to my mouth, preventing the bile rising in my throat from coming forth. It was not that I cared anymore whom Benedict had been with in the short time he had been here, but to threaten my father’s life was a deed lower than a snake’s belly. Then there was Sir Ranulf, riding away this morning flanked by heavily armed guards. I had to find a way to expose Benedict and make things right.

  “I will not listen to your half truths, Margaret. My concerns do not include for whom you spread your legs. But heed well that with Lord Benedict, you skirt the very edges of hell, so watch well your soul.”

  I swept after Nuala into my chambers and slammed the door behind me.

  My trusted maid kneeled at the hearth, stoking the embers, adding small pieces of wood until bright flames snapped and licked at the stone. She silently went about her task, but I sensed she had something to say.

  “What is it, Nuala?” I asked. Frantically, I searched my mind for a way to resolve the mess I had made. My father’s life and Ranulf’s lay in the balance.

  “I can see you are concerned, milady,” she offered, wiping her hands on her kirtle.

  Her dark eyes met mine and for a moment, I wanted to tell her everything, expose my sin and ask for a miracle. However, I realized at that moment that it would not have mattered. What happened between Ranulf and me was a welcome excuse. Benedict was all along making his plans. Now he had justification to dispose of Ranulf.

  She took a deep breath, looking at the door as she spoke.

  “There is someone who might be able to help you, milady.”

  Her fingers worried mine. I sensed her nervousness. “Who is it?”

  “It is the crone who lives at the edge of the village. They say she practices the magic of the old ways.”

&
nbsp; “You do not mean the Druid priestess?” I dropped her grasp. “I do not partake of the dark arts.”

  “I understand, milady. Forgive me.”

  I turned my back to her, staring at my bed, still in its perfect state since yester morn. I thought of Ranulf’s hands upon me. Even now, I tasted him on my tongue. “Wait, how do you think she can help me?”

  Nuala hurried back to me, tugging from her pocket a tattered sampler. “If you take this to her, she will explain.”

  I held the piece of unbleached linen in my hand, surveying the words in Gaelic embroidered in intricate detail. “What is this?” I asked, staring at her.

  “It was given to me long ago, by your mother. She trusted me for its safekeeping. She said that one day you might have need of its power. I have carried it with me always.”

  “And what has this to do with the old crone?”

  “She is the only one who knows how to release its power. You will need her guidance, Lady Sabeline, if you wish to use it now.”

  “Where does she live?” I pulled on a warm gown, stockings and shoes and then folded the sampler, stuffing it into the pocket of my dress.

  “I will take you to her.”

  I hesitated at the consequences if Benedict were to discover my absence. Still, he had given me no choice. I grabbed my cloak. “Meet me near the east wall of the ward and speak to no one of what you are about to do.”

  “Aye, milady.” She nodded.

  Moments later, we hurried through the market crowd in the keep’s outer ward and sneaked over the drawbridge into the small village beyond the castle. Left mostly for soldiers and travelers, it was not a safe place to tarry too long. A late-morning mist hovered over the road, shrouding the rooftops of the village huts. Tendrils of frosty white smoke curled high into the blue-gray winter sky as Nuala tugged me in haste toward the outskirts of the village.

  Dodging the errant remarks of a passing soldier, we veered off the main road to a path where the wood grew dense. I questioned the wisdom of this venture as the dim shadows enveloped us. The air was saturated with the dark stench of rotting wood and wet moss. We had to step over the gnarled branches barring the narrow path.

  After several moments, the trees departed and at the end yawned a clearing. In its midst sat a primitive, thatch-roofed house. I knew my father’s views about the old ways. He would not be pleased that I was venturing to see the old woman.

  “Some say she cast spells on those who can not pay her,” Nuala whispered. “Take this.”

  She stuffed a coin in my hand.

  “I canna go any farther, milady.” Nuala hesitated at the edge of the wood.

  “Thank you. Go back to the castle and tell no one you have seen me,” I said, and continued through the golden waist-high grass toward the house.

  Nuala hesitated before calling after me, “Are you certain I should not wait here for you?”

  Through the heavy ground cover, I noticed an odd collection of tall moss-covered stones jutting from the ground in the form of a circle. I wondered if this was where the Druids practiced their ancient magic.

  I shook my head and looked over my shoulder at my maid. “I will return soon.”

  She nodded and walked back through the wood, disappearing into the thickening mist. Taking a deep breath, I forged on, over the tangled brush scratching at my legs. A thin plume of ebony smoke curled from a hole in the crude roof. My gaze dropped from the smoke to the decaying old fence surrounding the yard. Several posts were missing and other sections lay on the ground, left to rot and join the soil. Two small black goats, a donkey and a few chickens scattered as I pushed open the gate fashioned of willow and twine. A cold shiver snaked up my spine.

  The front door stood ajar and from inside a three-legged dog appeared, its tail wagging in friendly greeting.

  “I ’av been awaiting your arrival, Sabeline.”

  An ancient woman teetered through the open door with little more dexterity than the crippled dog. To ask how she knew of my coming was unnecessary.

  “’Tis the magic of solstice that brings ye, daughter.” I could not move. My limbs seemed frozen in place, from fear or cold, I could not say. I sensed a power drawing me toward the door, though my feet had not moved. Determined to state my purpose, I found my voice. “I am in desperate need of your help.” I kept my distance, ready to bolt should the need arise.

  “Are you afeard of me, daughter?” she asked.

  I swallowed. “I have come to seek help for one unjustly accused.” I straightened my shoulders, bolstering my courage, and held the old woman’s gaze.

  The crone nodded, her silvery strands of wiry hair lifting haphazardly in the bitter winter wind. Her garish yellow smile was marked by black gaps.

  “It takes a great deal of courage to seek the powers of the earth and sky. Make certain, child, that your desire is pure and true. For once begun, the fates control what is to be. Come now, join me for tea.”

  I glanced up at the darkening sky, ripe for snow. The old ways had diminished over the years and now, only small isolated groups of Druid believers lived to carry on the ancient teachings. Whether or not I believed in the dark magic, perhaps I might learn something that would absolve Ranulf and save my father from Benedict’s terrible plan.

  I entered the one-room hut and was set back on my heels by the suffocating scent of boiling vegetation mixed with a rancid odor I could not identify. I scanned the interior, noting the odd array of small animal pelts and dried herbs strung high in the rafters overhead. The dirt floor had been swept recently and a small wooden table with two chairs sat in front of the fireplace. The rest of the room stretched into dark corners that I could not see clearly and decided it was best I couldn’t.

  “Tell me what you seek, daughter.”

  The old woman shuffled to the fireplace and poked the embers beneath the iron cauldron. “It is in regard to a man,” I replied, curiosity causing me to peer into her cauldron. Her gaze snapped to mine, the wrinkled flesh of her elderly face a contrast to the youthful flash in her gaze. My eyes drifted to the black pot.

  “What did ye think ta see, child?” She let out a raggedy laugh.

  I took a step toward the door.

  Her gaze softened. “’Tis a widower’s clothing I am washing, nothing more. My herb and flower water takes the stain of animal blood from the cloth. A little rosemary and anise root gets rid of the foul smell.” She wagged a crooked finger at me as she stirred the contents with a stout wooden stick.

  “Come close, child. You are cold, see fer yerself what’s in the cauldron,” she soothed.

  I stepped forward and the intense heat of the fire warmed my face, the light bouncing off the surface of the water, making it quiver as if it were alive.

  I hesitantly drew the sampler from my pocket and handed it to her.

  She smiled as she held the cloth lovingly in her hands.

  “I was told that you might be able to tell me its meaning and if it might help me. It was my mother’s,” I added as an afterthought.

  She nodded. “I know, my child,” she stated quietly. “The words sewn into this fabric hold a very powerful magic.”

  I peered into the black water, seeing it stuffed with clothes, just as she’d said.

  “Deep is the magic of solstice,” she murmured. “It is buried far beneath the earth, awaiting the warmth of the new sun to bring new life.”

  As I stared into the glittering black water, its surface rippled and images appeared to begin to form. I blinked, certain I was seeing things.

  “There is legend of two lovers torn apart, their passion, forbidden, could not be extinguished.”

  Her voice faded into the recesses of my consciousness.

  Swirling in the water, I saw a man and a woman, their bodies as one, lost in their pleasure. I was entranced, uncertain whether the image was real, or simply my imagination. I could not speak for the feeling of divine ecstasy rising inside of me. I turned to ask the old woman what it meant but found myse
lf in a cave, watching the couple.

  As his hands skimmed over her flesh, I felt their roughness. Though I could not discern the couple’s faces, my body grew tight as she turned on her hands and knees and he drove into her from behind. His long wheat-colored hair hid his face as he leaned over the woman, gently kissing the back of her neck. His hands, strong like a warrior’s, his wrists wrapped in leather gauntlets, held the woman’s hips firm. She bowed her head, her breasts dangling like ripe pears as her body accepted him again and again. My gaze traveled over the great strength of the man’s thighs, the sinewy muscle of his buttocks bunching with each determined thrust. I drew in a sharp breath. My body sensed the woman’s every pleasure as if it was me.

  “Pure is the seed of truth. No darkness can imprison it forever. Neither sword nor death, nor decree, not even time can tear it asunder.”

  The old woman’s voice filtered through the swirling haze of my mind. My breath caught and my body shuddered as the man pushed hard against the woman and cried out with his release. I could barely breathe as she turned and stared at me. My gaze darted to the man now spent, tucking her in his arms, drawing her to his lap as he whispered to her. His eyes met mine and there was no doubt of their familiarity. Ranulf.

  I stumbled as I turned away and hit the table in the crone’s one-room hut. Unable to catch my breath, I collapsed in a chair.

  The old woman eased her frail body into the chair across from me and folded her shaking hands.

  “Tell me, daughter, what did ye see?”

  I buried my face in my hands. “It is not right what I have done.”

  She reached across the table and her cold, wrinkled hand took mine.

  “Because ye loved that which ye thought was forbidden?”

  “Because I allowed my lust to destroy a man’s life,” I pleaded. “And so, too, my own.”

  “Surely, for the depth of yer grief, ye care much for this man?” she said.

  Was it possible that I did not know my own heart? That what I thought was only passion was something more? If it was so, then I might as well be dead, for I would never again have the only man who had awakened me. “I am betrothed to another.” I turned my guilt-ridden gaze to hers.