by Lynn Kurland
Did miracles never cease?
She reached up and tucked her hair behind her ears. “I’ll let my hair grow,” she said, sounding very self-conscious. “It must trouble you as it is.”
“Actually,” he said, “I was just looking at you and finding myself amazed yet again that you are mine. I vow, my lady, that you’ve a beauty that all would wish for their own. Grow your hair if you like, or not. It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“It’ll get in your way training if it’s too long,” he said.
“I once suspected you might say something like that. You, my lord, have a most interesting way of viewing life.”
He frowned, not sure if that was a compliment or not. But his lady was smiling at him as if she approved, and that was enough for him.
Now, if he could just rid himself of his various family, sundry, and guests, and apply himself fully to the task of indulging in marital bliss, he would be content.
“Oh, Colin, this is beautiful!”
He looked about him and saw his land with fresh eyes. Perhaps he’d made a mistake not coming back more often. Aliénore had it aright; it was beautiful. The hills were lush and full of goodly grasses for animals. Fields were busily producing crops that would feed him and his people for the winter. The sun shone down pleasantly and a gentle breeze cooled his brow.
Then again, he likely wouldn’t have found it so pleasing without Aliénore at his side.
“Smell,” she said, breathing deeply.
He did, and found himself sparing a faint wish for the tang of the sea. Though he supposed dung was a pleasing enough smell, under the right circumstances.
“You won’t miss the sea, will you?” he asked.
“You know I won’t.” She shrugged lightly. “Though now I think I would be happy wherever I was.”
“Would you? Why?”
“Because I’ve found a home,” she said, looking at him with a gentle smile. “With you.”
Colin found himself quite suddenly rubbing at his eyes. “Dirt,” he said gruffly. “Damned bit of fluff flew right into my eyes. I’m fortunate I wasn’t rendered sightless by the enormous quantity.”
She laughed.
He couldn’t even muster up enough irritation to promise her that he would see her repaid for her mirth.
“Sea, countryside,” she said happily. “I don’t care.”
“Less dirt by the sea,” he said, dragging his sleeve across his traitorous eyes a last time.
“But much sand,” she said. She looked at him innocently. “Do you think you’d have the same problem there? It getting so forcefully and thoroughly in your eyes, as it were.”
He pursed his lips. “Did you but know me better, you would hesitate to tease me.”
“I do know you better,” she pointed out, “and I can’t resist teasing you. Would you deny me such a small pleasure?”
He opened his mouth to say that he most certainly would, then realized she was yet using him for her own sport. He scowled at her.
“You, lady, are foul.”
She only smiled pleasantly and looked quite unafraid.
And that was something, he supposed.
Indeed, he supposed that her look was more than just the one a woman would wear when she was unafraid. Her look hinted at affection. Perhaps even, did he dare say it, goodly affection?
He wondered, absently, if he looked as besotted as Christopher was wont to look on occasion.
Best confine that kind of look to the bedchamber, he decided quickly. The saints only knew what would happen to his reputation otherwise.
He concentrated on the road ahead, studying the surrounding terrain as they went, looking for things that perhaps might need to be changed or improved. His father had taken marginally good care of the holding, Colin had to give him that. But there were things that could be done to make it safer, more comfortable, more pleasing to the eye.
Things he would do gladly for the sake of his lady.
They rode into the courtyard at length and Colin dismounted with relief. He helped Aliénore down, then took her by the hand and looked about him to make certain the rest of the company could see to themselves. He turned back to the hall to find his father’s steward creeping down the steps. Colin had little love for the man, for he was as stingy as Reginald himself. A goodly quality in a steward, he supposed, but surely he could find another just as frugal with an aspect to him that didn’t make Colin grind his teeth each time he showed that face.
“My lord—” the steward began, then looked at Aliénore. His eyes traveled down to where her hand was clasped with Colin’s, and then that same gaze made its way back up to meet Colin’s. The man looked near to fainting.
“My wife,” Colin said shortly. “The lady Aliénore.”
“Wife,” the man repeated weakly. “Oh, the saints be praised ’Tis a woman!”
Colin snorted. “Saints, man, have you not eyes in your head? How could anyone mistake this beautiful creature for a boy?”
“How indeed?” murmured someone behind him.
Colin knew without a doubt who it was.
“Heal yourself, de Piaget,” he threw over his shoulder. “We will meet in the lists very soon. I’ve several things to repay you for!”
There wasn’t even an audible gulp for his trouble. Colin looked down at Aliénore. “I’ve gone soft,” he said. “He wouldn’t have dared show so little response to that threat two years ago.”
“Should I myself appear more terrified?” she asked, the comer of her mouth beginning to twitch in a way that looked alarmingly like something Jason would allow.
Colin favored her with a scowl. “You, lady, have learned terrible habits from that boy.”
She put her arms around him. “But you tease so well, my lord. I find myself powerless to resist the temptation.”
He grunted. “I would tell you to try harder, but each time you use me so ill, you seem to feel the need to soothe me, so perhaps ’Tis a fair trade. And do not,” he threw over his shoulder, “use that as excuse, Jason. I do not need soothing from you!”
A muffled chuckle was his answer.
Colin brushed past his father’s steward, pulled Aliénore along, and entered the great hall. He paused and looked about him, trying to dredge up some pleasant memory of the place. He vaguely remembered time spent there with his mother, sitting near the fire, listening to her occasional laughter.
None of which had been directed to or shared with his father, if he remembered things aright.
“This would be a good place to start memories of our own,” Aliénore said quietly, giving his hand a squeeze. “Don’t you think?”
“I think,” he said, looking down at her with warm feelings in his heart, “that you are a truly remarkable woman. I vow you’re as sensible as any man I know.”
“Such flattery,” she said with a smile. “You leave me breathless.”
He frowned at her. He would have rather heard that his loving left her breathless, but perhaps he hadn’t polished his skills enough in that area yet. There was time enough, he supposed, for that.
He made himself at home at the high table, then passed the rest of the day watching the events of the keep unfold before him. Servants came in and out, food appeared—though after tasting it he wished it hadn’t—and his family and Aliénore’s made themselves comfortable. Even the witches seemed to find themselves completely at home. And when Nemain tasted supper, then made her way to the kitchens with a purposeful glint in her eye, Colin didn’t bother to stop her.
He leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath, and sighed. In pleasure or relief, he couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he was happy, and surprisingly so. Not that he hadn’t felt waves of happiness wash over him occasionally. But this bone-deep contentment? Nay, he’d never felt that before.
He looked at Aliénore. “Thank you.”
“My lord?”
“I think I am ... happy.”
She closed her
hand over his. “I’m glad.”
He nodded, then nodded again to himself. Aye, he was happy and glad of it. Who would have thought that a simple betrothal—for which he supposed he must needs thank his father—could have resulted in such, well, happiness.
“Father,” he called.
Reginald only favored him with a glare.
“I’ll see you don’t lack for comforts,” he offered.
Reginald’s scowls ceased abruptly. “And you’ll also—”
“See to nothing else. Be grateful for what you have.”
Reginald subsided into soft snarls. Colin supposed it could have been worse than that. Well, his father was seen to, thankfully, so he could spare no further guilt in that direction. Nemain would no doubt see to the kitchens, leaving him to see to other things.
Was it possible his father’s bed was free of fleas?
He beckoned to a servant, whispered something in the woman’s ear, then smiled pleasantly at Aliénore.
“Ridding the bed of vermin.”
“A fine idea.”
Now, if he could just rid himself of his guests in like manner, he might be more pleased. Then again, there was no reason he had to remain below. Aliénore was beginning to look weary and there was no sense in not seeing what sort of things awaited them upstairs.
But he would let the servants see to the fleas first.
And whilst he waited, he would sit next to his lady wife and be grateful for her hand in his and her sweet smiles turned his way. Who would have thought his sire’s nefarious machinations would have resulted in such a happy state of affairs? A keep of his own, a wife of his own, and the freedom to enjoy caring for both. Aye, his had become quite a good life and he supposed he might be indebted to his sire for a bit of that.
Not that the man would have planned such a thing, of course, but Colin wasn’t going to quibble with the results.
And to think he had been so adamantly opposed to the blissful state of matrimony for so long. Ah, well, perhaps that had been for the best. If he’d found himself wed with the first wench his sire had tried to foist off upon him—the one who had pleaded the excuse of maggots infesting various and sundry parts of her person as reason enough not to make an appearance before a priest with him—he might have been quite unhappily wed. Or what of that empty-headed girl who’d thrown herself at her sire’s feet—in front of Colin, as it happened—and pleaded a sudden onset of insanity?
He examined the score of women who’d avoided wedding with him and found not a one of them to be anywhere near Aliénore’s equal. Besides, they had just used words to beg off. Aliénore had taken her fate in her hands and actually done something to avoid him.
He looked at her purposefully. “You are an admirable wench.”
“Am I indeed?” she asked.
“I’d like to show you my appreciation.”
“Would you?”
He rose and pulled her up with him. “Surely the fleas are gone by now.”
“If not, you could frighten them off with your sword.”
Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner? He kept her hand in his, nodded to his guests, then promptly forgot them in anticipation of an afternoon spent showing his wife just how admirable he thought she was.
Chapter 43
Ali stood in the fall sunshine and lifted her face skyward. The rains hadn’t yet begun and all had been laboring diligently to bring in the harvest before they came. She had found working in the fields to be a pleasure that she couldn’t deny herself.
Odd, the things a woman had time for when she wasn’t passing all her time in the lists.
She stretched, her hands at her back, and closed her eyes to enjoy the fine weather. It was hard to believe she’d been at Berkham almost three months. If she’d known how happy she would be at Colin’s home, she would have—well, there was no sense in trying to make sense of her decision. She’d been terrified, made the best decision she could at the time, and all had worked out for the best.
Only now she was reaping the rewards of finally having come to her senses.
She leaned down, picked up her basket, and started back toward the keep. She looked at it with fondness. Not only was it her home, it housed the one she loved.
Aye, she loved him.
And she would also love the child he’d given her.
She hadn’t told him yet, but she planned to soon. He’d looked at her belly strangely a time or two, but she’d merely remarked that the fare at table had been exceptionally good and that had seemed to satisfy him. That she’d shunned the lists and been puking every morning had been something he’d obviously lumped in with his list of the womanly weaknesses she occasionally indulged in.
She smiled. How could a body not love the man?
She noticed a stooped, covered woman walking up the road, and she slowed her pace to match the woman’s.
“Might I carry that for you?” she offered, gesturing to the basket.
“If you like,” came the hoarse voice.
Ali took the basket and saw the scarred hand that had held it. Pity welled up in her heart for one who was less fortunate than she.
“Would you come into the keep?” Ali asked. “I’ll see to a meal for you.”
“Much appreciated, my lady.”
Ali walked slowly alongside the woman, then turned her mind to other things. Colin would no doubt be done with his exercise in the lists and be ready for something to eat. His garrison would be ready for food and something to ease the pain.
Some things never changed.
And now that Jason had gone to Artane to visit his family, Colin’s choices for a sparring partner were very limited indeed. He was continually seeking to lure fierce knights into his garrison to supplement the lads who owed him service anyway. The latter were always the ones who fulfilled their forty days and departed back to their homes with alacrity. Colin had found a few who were willing to stay as a permanent garrison, but even those he had to rotate in and out of the lists. Fighting with the man was nothing short of exhausting.
As for his other pursuit, he was not shunning those labors either. Aliénore could readily attest to that. Though she had never thought him unskilled to start with—not having anything to compare him to—she certainly had to admit that he had honed his skill with much practice and a great amount of enthusiasm.
She supposed her growing belly was proof enough of that.
As for herself, she filled her days with having her hands in the dirt, making herself known to his people, and reaccustoming herself to walking about in skirts. She had come to appreciate the odd hour in the lists merely because she could don hose and stride about comfortably.
There was, perhaps, something to be said for being a man.
But being a man would have meant she had little time for offering charitable service, as she did now. She guided the woman, whom she assumed was one of Colin’s villeins, up to the great hall and to one of the tables. She saw to food and would have left, but the woman seemed to hesitate. Ali felt compassion stir within her and sat next to the peasant. Perhaps she only wanted for some company.
“Have you lived here long?” Ali asked.
The woman merely bowed her head and set to her meal.
Well, perhaps talking was unnecessary when there was a belly to fill. So Ali waited patiently whilst the woman ate, then listened as that very soft voice asked for a garderobe.
“Of course,” Ali said. “Follow me.”
She led the woman up the stairs and down the passageway, a passageway that was certainly cleaner than when Ali had arrived. If the servants had doubted her seriousness initially, they seemed to believe she was in earnest quite readily after they’d seen her coming back from the lists with Colin, a sword at her side.
Ali wondered often what sort of reaction she might have at the English court did she but attempt the same thing.
“Here we are,” Ali said, motioning to a doorway. “Now, I should likely descend—”
The next th
ing she knew, her hair, which had grown a bit in three months, was caught up in a grip far too strong for an old woman to have possessed. Ali might have thought it was a terrible mistake, but she felt the prick of steel in her back and heard words she never thought she would.
“Greetings, stepdaughter. What a lovely keep you have here.”
Ali closed her eyes and considered screaming. Praying seemed a better choice and she hastily offered a very heartfelt one. Not for herself.
For her child.
“I thought you were dead,” Ali whispered.
“Tales of my demise were, as you can see, exaggerated.”
“What do you want?” Ali asked. “I daresay you’ll have it, whatever it is.”
“What do I want?” Marie laughed, and the sound was very unpleasant. “What I want is what you cannot give me. I want my beautiful visage returned to me. I want to walk without a limp. I want never to look at my scarred hands again. But instead, I’ll take your death.”
Ali flinched and the steel pricked harder.
“Not here, though,” Marie said thoughtfully. “I want your husband to watch. Up on the roof, over the lists. We’ll wait until he notices us. ’Tis the least I can do for him.”
“He’ll kill you for it.”
“That would be a relief.”
“Then why don’t you just kill yourself?” Ali rasped. “And leave me alive to grieve your loss?”
Marie made a sound of contempt. “I know your feelings for me, Aliénore, and I think mourning me would be the last thing you would do. Besides, my death has no meaning if I don’t cause yours first. Now, move, before you force me to slay you here.”
Ali moved, only because the knife dug deeper. That, and she was completely unable to reach for the knife in her boot. Marie’s knife had gone in only far enough to break the skin, but it would easily slide between her ribs and kill her before she could wrench away and grasp her weapon. And even if the knife slid in and left her insides mostly intact, she would likely bleed so abundantly that the babe would be harmed.
Nay, better that she do as Marie bid her. Besides, once she was up on the roof, she could easily call for help and someone would come.