by Shari Anton
Finally, upon hearing Corwin’s cry for the company to halt, she said a silent prayer of thanks to God—Father, Son, and Spirit—and every saint who came immediately to mind.
Bronwyn jolted awake as the litter came to a halt. “Goodness,” she said, stretching delicately. “I have slept most of the morn away. I see the weather holds. Good, that means we can travel many miles yet before seeking shelter. Ah, Baron Gerard. How nice of you to assist us.”
Gerard held the panel open. Bronwyn fairly bounded out of the litter, resting her fingertips briefly on Gerard’s arm.
“How fare you, ladies?”
“Oh, quite nicely, my lord. I am, however, faint with hunger. Shall I bring you some cheese and bread, Ardith? Would you prefer wine or mead?”
“N-nothing, Bronwyn. I will eat later.”
Bronwyn tilted her head. “Are you all right? You do look a bit peaked.”
Ardith drew a calming breath. “I am fine. Do go and have your meal.”
With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Bronwyn went in search of nourishment. Gerard stood at the opening, waiting.
“Have you ever ridden in one of these, my lord?”
“Nay,” he said, inspecting the litter front to back. “From the way it moves, I would imagine the motion feels much the same as a ship in gentle seas.”
“Gentle seas?”
“Aye.”
“Have you traveled on many ships?”
“I have crossed the Channel several times between England and Normandy.”
“And your opinion, my lord?”
Ardith gave him credit for trying to hide his smile. He knew she was stalling, unable to move.
“I would rather my feet on solid ground, or at least a good, steady horse beneath me.”
Then he reached inside the litter, pushed her mantle aside and took a firm hold around her waist. His encircling hands were warm and reassuring.
“Come, Ardith. We shall walk a bit and you will feel better. Now, put your hands on my shoulders. Both hands, my lady. Very good. Move toward me a bit. A bit more.”
“I feel such a dolt.”
“Do you trust me, Ardith?”
“Aye, my lord.”
“Then lean toward me and I will lift you out.”
She did trust him, but as she leaned forward and Gerard tugged, Ardith flung her arms around Gerard’s neck and clung. He grew very still, then his hands squeezed her waist. Ardith floated out of the litter, supported by strong arms and warm hands and her death grip on Gerard’s neck.
She hung suspended for a moment before he lowered her to the ground. Her feet on firm earth, Ardith loosened her hold to allow Gerard to stand upright. Expecting to see amusement, prepared to laugh at her own cowardice, Ardith looked up.
He smiled, but didn’t mock. “Come, scamp,” he said. “Let us see if you can walk.”
Her hand tucked in the crook of his arm, they walked in silence up the road, past men and horses, until Ardith’s legs no longer wobbled.
“I hope I need never board a ship,” she stated firmly.
“’Tis not so bad once accustomed to the sway.”
Her body and mind again in harmony, she thought to ask, “How fares my father?”
“Well enough.” He stopped walking. “You worry overmuch.”
“Is that not why I came, to look after my father?”
“Partly.”
Gerard realized his mistake as soon as the word passed his lips. Ardith withdrew her hand and faced him squarely.
“Then you must enlighten me, my lord. I heard of no other reason why I had to leave Lenvil.”
Now wasn’t the time to tell her the whole of his plans. Gerard wanted first to speak with King Henry, ensure no objection would come from royal quarters before bargaining with Harold on betrothal and marriage to Ardith.
But she was so damned adorable, her pert face tilted upward, her blue eyes flashing with irritation. Wasn’t now a good time to hint at the joys to come?
He hadn’t intended to kiss her, hadn’t even intended to stray so far ahead of the rest of the company. But they were alone and the temptation was just too sweet.
He cupped her cheeks with his hands. “I wished you to come,” he told her, then gently touched her mouth with his own.
Gerard felt her surprise in the slight tremble of her lips. He pressed through her hesitation, coaxed her honeyed mouth with featherlight brushes of lips. Finally, delightfully, she responded.
He cursed his chain mail, designed to deflect sword blows and spear points. He couldn’t feel her hands where she placed them on his chest, twining her fingers in the metal rings. Nor could he feel the warmth of her body as he gathered her into his embrace.
The flash of her passionate nature, hidden under a thin veil of innocence, nearly shattered his resolve to be content with a kiss. With rigid control he kept his hand from straying to her breast, the gentle swell he longed to cup and fondle.
Knowing his limits, Gerard broke the kiss. Her eyes remained closed. Her lips, reddened and slightly swollen, stayed pursed for an instant, then relaxed.
When at last she opened her eyes, it was Gerard’s turn to feel surprise. He saw sadness of unfathomable depth. A tear glistened in the corner of her eye.
“Oh, Gerard,” she whispered. “Sometimes we may not have what we wish.”
No, not right now, but soon. Gerard knew well the ways of seduction—a kiss here, a touch and sweet words there. When he was ready to claim her, she wouldn’t deny him. Her response to his kiss told him as much. But why had the kiss brought on such sadness?
Before he could ask, Ardith pushed away, glancing back toward the company and the sound of an approaching horse.
“We have a problem, my lord,” Corwin said as he reined in, his face all smiles. “We are being followed.”
Gerard frowned. “By whom?”
“Elva.”
“Elva?” Ardith exclaimed.
“Aye. I bade her return to Lenvil, but she refuses. She says that when Father banished her to the village, she became a peasant. Therefore, she claims the right of a freeman to go anywhere she damn well pleases.”
“Where does she go?”
Corwin dismounted. “She follows you, Ardith. She says you will have need of her counsel at court.”
Ardith crossed her arms, her expression stern. “I would wager she has read those blasted bones again. Every time she casts them, she sees some dire event.”
“Superstitious nonsense,” Gerard muttered, and began walking back to the main body of the company.
“Aye,” Ardith agreed, falling into step. “But Elva believes in the old rites.”
Corwin asked, “Do we let her join us? She is older than Father and the walk will be arduous.”
Gerard shrugged the matter off as unimportant. Having one more person in the party made little difference. “Ardith?”
“If Bronwyn agrees, put Elva in the litter. I will walk.”
Gerard waved Corwin off to tend to the old woman. “Why give up your seat?”
“I would give up my seat to anyone who would take it. I refuse to ride any farther in that device of torture.”
Gerard’s ire rose. No future mistress of Wilmont would trek the road like a common peasant.
“Thomas,” he shouted. “Fetch my cloak.”
Thomas dropped the destrier’s reins and sprinted toward the cart bearing Gerard’s tent and belongings. To Ardith’s amazement, the warhorse stood still.
From the middle of the line came voices raised in argument. Harold lectured Elva on insolence. Elva shouted back from beside Bronwyn’s litter.
“Oh, dear,” Ardith said and took a step.
Gerard reached out and stopped her. “Leave them to their spat. Neither is helpless.”
Thomas came running back, cloak in hand. Gerard whipped the beaver-lined mantle around his shoulders and fastened the gold brooch. He grabbed the reins, put his boot in the stirrup and in one fluid movement mounted the warhorse. He
scowled down at Ardith. “Are you still determined to walk?”
“Aye, my lord.”
He gave a long, resigned sigh, then held out his hands. “Come, Ardith. Ride with me.”
The thought of riding on a warhorse gave her pause. Black as coal, sleek as silk, the destrier stood several hands taller than her palfrey. Warhorses were said to be mean as jackals, fierce fighters, protective of their masters.
“I thought ‘twas bad luck for a destrier to carry a woman,” she argued.
“Superstitious nonsense.”
Ardith looked back. Everyone waited. Riding pillion was little better than riding in the litter. But if she refused Gerard’s invitation, all would consider the rejection an insult to the baron.
She reached up. Gerard took a firm hold under her arms. She placed her foot on the toe of his boot. Expecting to swing up behind him, she said, “You should move your cloak, my lord, so I don’t—”
With a jerk, Gerard pulled her up. With a thump, she landed sideways in his lap.
“—sit on it.”
Ardith glared her displeasure.
“Are you really so unhappy with where you ride?” he asked.
No, she wasn’t, but refused to admit aloud the comfort of the seat. Yet, she was uneasy. For more than a week she’d deliberately stayed away from Gerard. Now she found herself cradled between his thighs after an unexpected and unsettling kiss. Every inch of her flesh tingled in warning.
She felt the tug on her mantle as Gerard covered her legs. He pulled up his cowl, framing his blond hair with dark fur, then wrapped them both in beaver. Without glancing back, he gave a push with his knees and the horse moved forward.
Within the snug cocoon, Ardith felt the drowsiness she’d held at bay all morning. She turned her head from Gerard’s chest and looked ahead at the road stretching endlessly through the countryside. One could see for miles from atop a warhorse.
She could hear the company behind them, the thud of soldiers’ feet on the dirt road, the jangle of harnesses on the horses carrying the litter. She tried to sit up straighter, to peek over Gerard’s shoulder at the parade behind.
“Why so curious, scamp? Must you ever be the mother hen, checking on her chicks?”
“Are you sure everyone was ready? How do you know one of the men was not back in the bushes and we leave him behind?”
“Then he must hike up his breeches and hurry to catch up. ‘Tis one of the few privileges of rank I find amusing. I can leave without them—” he tossed his head back slightly “—but they cannot leave without me.”
“And if my father’s horse stumbled, or Bronwyn’s litter came unharnessed, or a wagon’s wheel broke?”
“Then Corwin would come tell me. ‘Tis his duty to see the retinue moves without incident, to inform me of any problems. If I kept looking back to ensure the company intact, what need for Corwin to take his duty seriously?”
“You trust Corwin.”
He nodded. “As I trust many others who serve me.”
“John?”
“I am confident we left Lenvil in competent hands.”
Ardith silently agreed. “Who else?”
“I trusted you, did I not, to hold a confidence?”
“You give your trust lightly, my lord.”
“Nay, my lady. But once earned, ‘tis rarely lost. So many questions. You look weary. You should sleep.”
In this unseemly position? Cuddled close to Gerard? Atop a warhorse? Sleep?
“I think not, my lord.”
“My lady is headstrong, a trait she will rue one day. You have no work to do, no people to order about, no hurt needing your attention. In about three hours we will reach the abbey where we will partake of an evening meal and attend vespers. I will not suffer the embarrassment of one of my retinue falling asleep over her plate or during prayers.”
“I would not!”
“Humph.”
Chagrined, Ardith decided she was no longer speaking to Gerard. They could ride the rest of the way in silence.
She tugged her scarf forward to protect her cheek from the rings of his chain mail. The sway of the destrier’s smooth gait and the warmth of the cozy nest Gerard had created lulled Ardith into closing her eyes. Through all the layers, she could hear the steady beat of Gerard’s heart.
On the brink of slipping into the land of dreams, Ardith warmed to the brush of Gerard’s lips on her forehead.
“Ah, my scamp. You have much to learn,” he whispered. “You will come to realize that I always get what I wish.”
Ardith woke to Gerard’s lips on her forehead and warm breath on her cheek, luring her from sleep with gentle bait.
“We arrive,” he said.
In a sweet haze, Ardith turned to look at the structure coming into view. The square bell tower stretched to the sky. The mammoth stone building sprawled over several hides of land. Monks, black-robed and tonsured, scurried to meet the approaching travelers.
Ardith wiggled to sit up.
“Ever been inside an abbey?” he asked.
“Never, though I saw the one in Bury Saint Edmunds. Are all the church’s holdings so imposing?”
“Many are, and many of the abbots control as much land as some barons. A bishop who controls several abbeys oversees nearly as much wealth as in the royal treasury.”
Ardith finally understood the king’s reluctance to allow the church to appoint bishops.
Gerard pulled his destrier to a halt at the steps leading to the massive oak doors. The doors swung open and out stepped a slight man, no more finely garbed than the other monks, but of obvious authority.
“Abbot Cottingham,” Gerard called in greeting. “We beg a night of your hospitality.”
“Gladly given, Gerard of Wilmont. Welcome to our humble abbey. May you find peace within our walls.”
“A place to spread my pallet and a chunk of the finest cheese in all England is what I crave.”
A smile cracked the abbot’s weathered face. “Would that all our noble guests were as easy to please.” Then the smile faded. “Your father, may his soul rest in heaven with the Lord, was also easily pleased. I shall miss Everart’s good company. But come, ‘tis cold. A warm fire and tankard of mead await inside.”
Ardith’s stomach growled at the mention of cheese, reminding her of her missed nooning. Gerard had departed in such haste, not allowing time to eat after her stomach had settled. She didn’t want to think about what had happened instead.
Gerard tossed the destrier’s reins to Thomas, who’d appeared at the horse’s head, then slid his hands under her mantle and around her ribs. “Ready, Ardith?”
Ardith looked down from the great height, wary. “Should we not wait for assistance? Mayhap Corwin—”
“I lifted you up here without aid, did I not?”
“Well, aye, but—”
“Then I can also get you down.”
And he did, so effortlessly that no strain showed in his face. She shouldn’t have been surprised. She’d seen him toss men aside during the game, and afterward had admired the sculpted bulk of his torso and arms.
Such wayward thoughts, she chided herself, and in the presence of an abbot, no less. Ardith turned toward that august personage. He was looking at Gerard, his hand outstretched to indicate a monk who stood at his side.
“Friar Zachary will show the women to the ladies’ court. They will be provided with hot water and a meal.”
“My thanks, my lord abbot,” Ardith said.
Abbot Cottingham didn’t answer, indeed seemed not to hear.
“They have had a tiring day,” Gerard said. “I am sure they will appreciate any kindness.”
The abbot nodded. “Then I will also grant dispensation from vespers, so they may rest.”
Gerard dismounted, and during those few moments when his back was turned, the abbot looked her way. The brown of his eyes had darkened with pure loathing, utter condemnation.
Chapter Seven
“Ardith, your imaginati
on runs amok,” Bronwyn stated.
“I imagine nothing,” Ardith retorted. “Abbot Cottingham took a dislike to me, I am sure of it. Out in the yard, he would not answer when I spoke to him. He looked at me but once, as though I were dirt beneath his feet. And this meal we are served proves his sentiment. ‘Tis hardly fit to eat! Would you serve such to guests?”
“Nay, but then neither am I a monk who must serve a wayfarer’s portion to each of a large company.”
Ardith looked down at the stale bread, a thick slice of cheese—which she had to admit was superb—and a cup of thinned mead.
She’d wager the abbot hadn’t dared serve such to Gerard.
“And we are confined to the ladies’ court,” she continued her argument. “Did you see the look on Friar Zachary’s face when he came for Elva to tend Father? My services were definitely not wanted. The abbot does not want me roaming about his precious abbey.”
Having given up on eating several minutes before, Bronwyn sat on the edge of a cot, working a piece of embroidery. “I do not wonder,” she said. “You are young, unmarried and quite beautiful—a temptation.”
“To monks?”
“Think you a monk does not have lustful thoughts? Are they not men? ‘Tis not you the abbot dislikes, Ardith. He only protects his monks from the occasion of sin.” Bronwyn looked up, smiling. “You did present a fetching vision from atop Gerard’s horse, surrounded in furs, half-asleep. A temptress if ever I saw one.”
Ardith took a bite of cheese to ease the growling in her stomach. A temptress, indeed. She’d looked half-asleep because she’d been half-asleep, having napped in Gerard’s arms with the peace of a babe wrapped in swaddling. She blamed the imprudent lapse of self-control on her lack of rest the night before and the misery of riding in Bronwyn’s litter.
“Oh, dear,” Bronwyn muttered. “Ardith?”
Ardith reached out to take the embroidery. The thread proved easier to unravel than the knot of turmoil caused by the memory of Gerard’s kisses. She shouldn’t have allowed his forward ways. But how could she have prevented either kiss?