The Flame Eater

by Barbara Gaskell Denvil

  On the fourth day of March, being the feast of St. Owen, the Earl of Chatwyn left his suffering son and his ruined castle, and with a sigh of relief rode south towards Westminster and King Richard’s court. His smile widened as the battered shadows of his own home receded behind him and he began to hum to himself, ignoring the pained glances of his retinue. He left the castle depleted, for he took more than half his senior ranking household with him, half or more of the already diminished stores and in particular the best Burgundy. He also travelled with virtually all the castle’s remaining movable comforts. His clothes and luxuries had also been destroyed by fire, but he had time to order more, with every intention of acquiring a lavish excess once he reached London.

  The empty spaces he left behind him shrank quietly into desolation. Repairs and rebuilding had begun, but with a slow plod rather than a busy bustle, for the dour weather made efficiency difficult and there was no lord to chase the workmen. Nicholas, sweating in an overheated chamber beneath a sticky layer of medications, lay increasingly feverish, barely aware of his father’s abrupt absence. He did not leave his bedchamber.

  Emeline did not go to his bedside. She wandered alone.

  The Keep, although no longer deserted at all times, still echoed with tumbling wood and plaster, and Emeline did not return there to search for any remaining belongings. Martha and her young maid Petronella had been left to attend her, but after a week of speaking only to servants and the castle’s timid priest, Emeline was finally informed that her husband intended travelling to Nottingham on the 16th day of March, weather permitting, and that she should make herself ready to leave early on that morning. There was no accompanying suggestion that she visit him prior to departure. She spent some days organising the packing, since there was little else to do, and she now had several gowns and a good collection of additional finery to carry with her, each item grander than the next. She had only worn two of the four new gowns, and gold damask was hardly appropriate for sitting alone in the small dining hall, creeping sadly through deserted passageways, nor while huddling in her bed to cry.

  It was late in the afternoon two days before departure when the body squire David Witton came with a message, asking if the lady would be so kind as to attend her husband in his lordship’s private chamber within the hour.

  She sat where she was with a lapful of stockings, garters and stomachers, looked up, immediately opened her mouth to say no, then quickly remembered her manners and changed her mind. She therefore appeared at the door to the bedchamber a little flustered and a little pink. The new gown she was wearing was also pink but Nicholas did not appear unappreciative.

  “No more burn scabs I see, madam. Delightful, come in, shut the door and share my supper. You can’t avoid me forever, you know.” He was lying out on the bed, but relaxed and at ease, propped up against a welter of pillows and no longer beneath the covers. Indeed, he was dressed for the first time since the wedding.

  Emeline gazed down at him. “You look better yourself, my lord.”

  “I shall never look better, as you very well know,” Nicholas smiled. “But the burns are healed, except for a few remaining sores on my arms. Hopefully I won’t relapse again. So although my doctors don’ sanction it, I believe I’m now well enough to travel.” He paused, adding, “I’ve left you sadly solitary these past weeks. But since you’ve also avoided me, I doubt you’ve any objections.”

  Emeline said, “My apologies, my lord. I considered whether to fulfil my wifely duty and visit the invalid. Then I decided my appearance would probably make matters worse, not better. I can hardly imagine you missed me.”

  “Miss you?” He shook his head. “I’ve not yet become accustomed to your presence, so there was nothing to miss. In fact, I’m barely acquainted with you, madam, or you with me. But I was kept informed of where you went and what you did.”

  “In case I slept in the Keep with the cinders, or jumped into the moat?”

  “Both possibilities occurred to me.”

  She sighed, and sat on a stool already pulled to the bedside. “I suppose you truly think me a mad woman. I assure you I’m not. But you sent for me for some other reason than just to confirm my sanity?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about the journey, and about my cousins,” he said, nodding towards the small table beside the hearth where their supper was laid. “I also wanted to give you something.” He swung his legs from the bed and stood, a little stiffly, a little awkward. “Come and eat, and I’ll show you.” She watched him walk across the room to the table, and did not offer her arm. He moved quietly, assured and straight, but he held to the furniture as he passed, leaning one moment against the bed post and then sitting heavily in the wide chair at the table’s head. He wore a loose cote doublet, unlaced and unbelted, swinging open over a white pleated shirt. His hose were tight grey knitted silk, showing the long curves of his thighs and calves, with no visible limp to spoil their elegance. Emeline followed and sat opposite, watching him with interest. The flesh on his face was smooth and unmarked in the candlelight, except for the old scar. No blisters or grazes, nor sticky unction or greasy salves spoiled the pale clarity of his face and she realised, as she had not done previously, that his features were well defined and even, and that without the scar he would have been an exceptionally handsome man.

  He waited, amused at her scrutiny. Finally he said, “Waiting for me to topple face down, my lady? Or hoping for signs of fatal infection?”

  “Was I watching too closely?” She blushed again.

  “I’ve been watching you too.” He grinned suddenly. “Here,” and he pointed.

  Her lost jewellery lay on the table beside her empty platter. The emerald brooch was twisted and some of the gold claws holding the stones had broken, but the large ruby ring which had once been her grandmother’s, was unharmed. It caught the firelight and glowed like blood. The gold cross from her father was not there and she assumed that the metal would have melted in the heat, but instead there was a flash of diamonds which she had never seen before. The brooch was large and elaborate, a sunburst spinning out from a diamond heart. She reached out and touched it, tentative fingertip to its raised centre, and whispered. “This is not mine.”

  “It is now,” Nicholas said. “It was my mother’s. It came to me when she died. I meant it for you as a bride gift but our wedding night presented little opportunity for love tokens. So take it now. Your own brooch suffered in the fire, I’m afraid, though it can be repaired in time.” Nicholas reached for the wine jug, and poured two cups. “I sent a couple of men to search though everything and see what they could find. This was all they discovered of yours.”

  “The diamonds are – magnificent.” It was unexpected and she struggled for words. “An heirloom, your mother’s, which makes it more precious. And to have my own property back – is – kind.”

  “That surprises you?” He laughed. “You expect no kindness from me? Have I seemed so brutal?” He stretched, leaning back to ease his shoulders, but kept a good clasp on his cup. “We’ve not started too well with this marital business. And I’m no courtly knight, I’m afraid. Nor will I ever look like one.” He once again drained his cup, saying, “But I’m capable of kindness, I believe, and shall be more active once we get to Nottingham. Adrian often entertains the local dignitaries, and the town’s busy with shops and markets. And there’re plenty of churches, if that’s your preference.”

  “No more than is – proper,” Emeline mumbled, staring bleakly from her husband’s wary smile to the diamond brooch in her hand, up to the velvet cuff of her new gown and then to the honey cake now spreading its sticky syrup over her plate. She had lost her appetite. “I’m not like my father, sir. But perhaps just as – unbending. I’m aware I’ve not always been as polite as I might – as I should have been. You’ve been very generous, my lord. And I have not.”

  His smile was slow growing, and lit an unexpected sparkle in his eyes. He said, “How delightful, my lady, an unexpected excess o
f guilt, I see. So you admit you may have been uncompromising in the past?” Emeline nodded sadly. “And have wilfully misjudged me?” With a slight hiccup, she nodded again. “And behaved with a complete lack of modest humility?” Emeline reluctantly raised her eyes to his and nodded a third time. “Exhibiting rude prejudice and a shocking dearth of wifely sympathy?” She swallowed, shifted with discomfort and managed a small fourth nod. Nicholas bust out laughing. “What a hypocrite,” he decided. “But it seems bribery will inspire miracles every time. A woman sees diamonds and suddenly becomes as biddable as a heifer led to the bull.”

  Emeline sat up straight again and glared. “You like being vulgar,” she accused him. “I was trying to be nice, that’s all. And the diamonds are beautiful but you can take them back if you think I can be bought. In future I shan’t try to be polite anymore.” She thumped her spoon back onto the table, pushed back her chair, and stood, shaky but defiant.

  Nicholas continued smiling, which annoyed her more. He also stood, though slowly and a little hesitant, as though his legs did not yet obey him as readily as he wished. He took just three steps towards the bed, now standing between his wife and the door. “Intending to run away again?” he inquired. “But I’m not sure I’m ready to let you go.” His eyes narrowed, the blue lights hooded, and said, “Come here.”

  Although the shutters were up, shrouding the room against the outside world, the light of the flames was cerise across the hearth, crackling aromatic amongst the logs and sparking up the chimney. Ten high wax tapers burned bright in their silver stands. The small chamber was vivid lit. Yet Emeline felt suddenly enclosed by shadow. She stared at her husband. He stared back. He was no longer smiling. She read menace, and remembered how her mother had warned of beatings if she did not behave, and of punishments to come. She could outrun Nicholas if she chose, for he still seemed unsteady. But such disobedience might lead to harsher beatings in the future, when his strength returned. So she said quietly, “My lord, I’m tired. I wish to return to my bed,” and tried to read his expression. She had not seen him drink enough to be dangerous, but he might well have filled his cup many times before she even arrived. Drunken men were the terror of many families, and Nicholas had proved his taste for wine at the wedding feast.

  Yet no longer seeming unsteady, although she was sure his legs still pained him, Nicholas stood very still, did not move, and repeated, soft voiced, “You can retire when I permit it, madam. Now, come here.”

  “If you mean to hurt me,” she whispered, “I warn you, I shall fight back. I know it’s not a wife’s prerogative but I will defend myself. I’m not your chattel.”

  Nicholas stood his ground. “An amusing thought, madam, though in fact, that is precisely what you are. Or do you imagine me infirm, and easily overcome? It seems you do not know me at all. Now, for the third and last time, come here.”

  She took one deep and anxious breath and approached him slowly, as though she might turn and run at any moment. He waited, his eyes fixed cold on hers. At an arm’s reach, she stopped, but he demanded, “Closer.”

  As she took one small step more, at once his hands took her, gripping her arms so tightly she winced. He pulled her nearer and tighter. His strength surprised and dismayed her but she stood still and pride stopped her from struggling or crying out. She thought his fingers would bruise her but she looked up into the fierce intensity of his blue gaze and did not blink. He watched her a moment. Then he bent his head down towards her.

  Again he paused, his eyes so close she stared into the milky fleck across the iris where once she had thought him blinded by whatever had scarred his cheek. She flinched. Then, unable to outstare his unblinking concentration, she closed her own eyes, and sighed. His breath was hot on her face.

  There was the sudden touch of his mouth on hers. And then he kissed her.

  Chapter Ten

  Nicholas felt the sudden melting of her body against his own, and he felt the creep of her fingers to his back, the growing intensity of her grip and then the tightening of her embrace. His own hands clasped her gently, pressing firm as his tongue explored the inner warmth of her lips. Finally pulling away, he smiled down at her. “You kissed me back,” he murmured. “I had not expected it. How inexplicable women truly are.”

  Dropping her arms to her sides, she mumbled, “You – took me – by surprise.”

  “There seemed no other way. Is the punishment sufficient then, to fit the lesson?”

  “No,” whispered Emeline, and shook her head.

  So he kissed her again.

  One hand to the small of her back, his other around her shoulders, Nicholas leaned her against the bedpost, and there he held her, bending over her. She felt his weight hard against her, and peeped up into his smile. Then his voice tickled her ear. “Nervous, little one? Do you hate me still?” and very, very softly kissed from the lobe of her ear down the side of her neck to the dip into her shoulder, and there took the edge of her gown and pulled it aside, just a little, so the curve to her arm was uncovered, and the first swell of her breast rested beneath his palm.

  She inhaled sharply and held her breath. His fingers stroked, slipping inside to cup her warmth, his thumb slowly circling her nipple. At once the nipple hardened, and stood erect. At first she pulled away, nervous of such unexpected intimacy. But then she hesitated, looking up into the hooded azure eyes above her. This was, after all, her husband. “Have you no answer, then, my love?” he murmured. “Or are you planning your revenge?”

  She hiccupped faintly against his cheek and mumbled, “I – I can’t think. I can’t breathe.”

  His chuckle was part smothered as he pushed his fingers inside her cleavage and down between the growing heat of her breasts. He quickly unhooked the little scrap of gossamer linen which closed the neckline of her gown. Then, clasping both her bodice and her shift beneath it, he pulled abruptly. She felt the sudden chill of air against her breasts before both his wandering hands warmed her again, and whispering, his voice tickling against her ear, “So will you come to me naked now, my love, and be my wife at last?” But he did not wait for her reply, nor seemed to expect one. He swept her up, one arm beneath her knees, out of her shoes as he swung her back onto the bed and against the heaped pillows. He was immediately beside her, unclipping the banded stomacher and pulling it free so she was left unclothed almost to the waist, with her arms trapped at her sides by the sleeves of her gown.

  “You’re blushing,” he smiled, as though delighted. “As prettily flushed as a new lit flame,” and reached up, first unclipping the starched folds of her headdress, pulling out and tossing aside the pins until her hair fell long over her shoulders. Then his hands were on her breasts again, caressing and teasing while he kissed her more forcefully, his tongue pushing in over her tongue as his fingers pinched her nipples. “But now, my love,” he said, “I want all of you.” And he moved back, reaching suddenly beneath her arm to unlace her gown, pulling the cord from its loops. Finally clasping the hems of her skirts, he lifted them in one swift fluttering arc up her legs, eased the material from under her, scooped the bundled velvet higher, then over her head and off her arms. He sat back then, the gown and shift tumbled in heaped creases on his lap as he looked at her.

  As her gown slid to the rug at his feet, Nicholas leant forwards and firmly uncrossed her arms as she tried to cover herself. “Oh, no, my love,” he murmured. “No hiding.” And he rested both his hands on her thighs above the tops of her stockings, stopping her as she squeezed her legs tightly together. “Look at me, little one,” he commanded. “I won’t hurt you. It’s pleasure I offer, not pain. But tell me first, do you know anything of how this is done?” He waited, searching her eyes as she gulped, and shook her head, and looked quickly away. “Very well,” he murmured. “And you have no brothers, and a father strict enough to keep you innocent as a fledgling. So have you ever seen a man unclothed?”

  She blinked hard, tried not to blush, and whispered, “Yes. You.”

 
Nicholas sat back surprised, eyebrows raised. The occasion was something he struggled to remember. “I was surely not that pissed on our wedding night,” he decided, “and I’m quite sure I neither touched you nor danced naked around the chamber.”

  “The next day,” Emeline mumbled, “on this bed when the surgeon was trying to dress your burns, and you’d fainted.”

  “Ah,” Nicholas grinned, which Emeline thought was definitely in poor taste. “I was trying to rescue the old man and a parcel of servants and save what I could of the castle, and had to do it all in my braies,” he said. “Damned stupid, when you come to think of it. So you came to visit while I was out cold, did you? I hope it wasn’t too hideous an education.”

  “Of course not,” she lied. “But I’m really not used to being – so can I – may I pull up the bedcovers?”

  “Certainly not,” said Nicholas. “If you’re cold, don’t worry, I have every intention of keeping you warm. And you, my love, should not be shy, since you’re quite deliciously beautiful.”

  She mumbled, “Don’t be silly.”

  He moved closer once more, and slid his hands up her body, slowly from her thighs up the spread of her hips, over the small curve of her belly, the valley of her waist, and again to her breasts. Then he bent, kissing her nipples, first brushing his tongue gently across, then taking them hard, one by one, into his mouth, nipping between his teeth. She gulped, and he whispered, “Deliciously, sublimely beautiful, believe me my love. Who has ever been fool enough to tell you otherwise? Your stubborn pea brained father? Certainly no one who ever had the pleasure of seeing you naked.”

  “No one has ever seen me – like this,” she whispered back.

  “Then I am honoured,” he told her, “and flattered, and ultimately delighted, now knowing my entirely unmerited fortune.” His hands were exploring, smoothing again across her body, then his fingers pushing up beneath her arm. “I like the curls you keep hidden here,” he murmured, “and here,” and his other hand rested just below her belly. “But you are still not quite as naked as I should like you,” He tucked both hands between her thighs, gently probing them apart. Then, fingers first to one leg and then to the other, he untied her garters and rolled down her stockings, slowly as he watched his own movements, firm and unhurried down her legs. He flipped each warm woollen stocking from her toes, tossed it to the floor, and smiled. “And now that you’re exactly how I want you,” he decided, “I am distinctly over dressed myself.” Still watching her, he shrugged his sweeping brocade from his shoulders to the rug, untied the loose cord of his shirt, and pulled it quickly over his head. She watched him as he watched her.