Love’s Sweet Sting

by Markland, Anna

  * * *

  Aidan hesitated only a moment before his still swollen hand went to the hilt of the sword he no longer wore. He had come too late. “Do nothing untoward, brother,” he whispered to Edwin. “We are among enemies.”

  He dreaded the pain he would see in Nolana’s eyes if he searched the crowd. He had failed once again to protect someone for whom he cared deeply.

  He bowed to Neyll. “Thank you for your welcome, Laird Maknab. I am Brother Christian from Lindisfarne Abbey.”

  Neyll smirked. “They sent a postulant, I see.”

  People in the crowd tittered.

  Edwin tensed beside him, but Aidan strove to remain calm. “I am indeed a postulant, but Lady Nolana was enjoying the sanctuary of my abbey and our abbot grew concerned when she did not arrive safely in Durham. The discovery of the body of one of her guards increased our alarm. I am charged with ensuring her safety. Most of the older monks are not fit enough to journey here in search of her.”

  It was not an outright lie...there was some truth in his words. Neyll need not know Aidan was not on an errand for the abbot. After leaving the abbey, he and Edwin had sent Ragna back to Kirkthwaite with some of the men, then ridden hard to Kolbrand’s Path, seat of the Maknab. He was grateful for the steadfast presence of his father’s old friend, Leofric, who sniffed away an embarrassed tear when he embraced Aidan outside the monastery. Leofric’s disfigurement rendered him a fearsome sight, sometimes useful when confronting adversaries.

  Aidan’s gut clenched when his eyes finally fell on Nolana. She was pale and thin, her eyes downcast. Despair haunted her face. Her gown was ill fitting. His heart went out to her...a bride should look radiant on her wedding day. He itched to throttle the monster in whose hall he stood.

  Neyll’s voice intruded. “You can see, Brother, that Nolana is safe and sound, enjoying her wedding feast with her new husband.”

  Aidan’s eyes followed Maknab’s gesture. An obese elderly man sat with his chin slumped to his chest, his legs splayed. The horror of Nolana’s fate struck him full force. His own sense of loss made him want to weep for her and for himself. He should have listened to his heart when he first set eyes on her.

  Leofric coughed. Neyll seemed to notice him for the first time. “What devise is this your man wears upon his tunic?”

  Aidan squared his shoulders. “We are FitzRams.”

  He paused. Having let his enemy know he was dealing with a Norman family, he deemed it useful to impart the full weight of his identity. “The FitzRams of Kirkthwaite Hall.”

  His words were repeated around the hall in hushed murmurs of disbelief. Maknab widened his stance, arched his brows, but said nothing. Aidan was sure in that moment that the rumors of Maknab involvement in the massacre of his grandparents were true. He glanced back at Nolana. Their eyes met. Was there a glint of admiration in those green depths?

  He looked back at Maknab. “We shall make it our concern that Lady Nolana enjoys continued good health. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  Without bowing, they turned and left.

  Aidan held on to his despair and anger until they were safely away from Kolbrand’s Path. When they were sure they had not been pursued, he dismounted, doubled over and retched. Edwin stood beside him, his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Leofric kept watch, holding the horses’ reins.

  It was he who spoke first. “Let’s get you back to Kirkthwaite, Aidan. You’ll feel better once you’ve bathed and are in your own clothes. We’ll tend your hands, then decide what to do.”

  Aidan shook his head. “There is naught we can do. I have failed her.”

  Leofric gripped his arm with his good hand and shook him. “Do not lose hope. If it’s meant to be, we’ll find a way to rescue her.”

  “Aye, by God,” Edwin shouted, surprising them both as he raised an angry fist.

  Trickery

  No amount of prodding or poking would rouse Grouchet. Neyll was none too happy as he watched his men labor to carry the baron to his chamber. He fisted his hands on the table and leaned over, his nose inches from Nolana’s face. “Seems ye have a reprieve for this night, daughter, but ye canna long escape the inevitable. Ye will bear that fool an heir.”

  Nolana gritted her teeth. “Or ye willna get full payment?”

  He raised his hand to strike her then hesitated. “Take care, Nolana.”

  She smirked. “’Twill be more difficult for ye, now I’m under the protection of my husband.”

  He clenched his fists. “Dinna be too sure. Get to yer chamber.”

  A cold chill settled in Nolana’s bones as she slowly mounted the steps to her bridal chamber, her thoughts filled with images of Aidan. She prayed her husband had not regained his wits. Considering the amount of ale he had consumed, she wouldn’t be surprised if he slept for a sennight.

  She slipped into the chamber. Grouchet lay on the bed, snoring loudly, his mouth agape. Someone had wrestled him out of his clothing and into a nightshirt. She was relieved Maknab had provided no maidservant for her, no doubt thinking her husband would be the one to remove her clothes. She settled into a chair in a shadowed corner and tucked her knees to her chin.

  Aidan’s proud words echoed in her mind. The FitzRams of Kirkthwaite Hall. Had he come at the behest of his superior? Did she dare hope he had left the monastery to find and claim her for his own?

  It didn’t matter. She was doomed. But she would cherish the memory of his presence, a humble monk refusing to be intimidated by her stepfather. But he wasn’t a humble monk. He was a proud nobleman, as she had suspected. She would never forget the look of anguish on his face when he learned she was married. If he had left the religious life for her, would he now lay blame at her door?

  These questions plagued her as she dozed fitfully. When she woke at dawn, Grouchet snored on. She had spent her wedding night with her loathsome husband, but was still a virgin. She sat bolt upright, trembling at the boldness of an idea creeping into her mind. The baron’s eating dagger was still tucked into its sheath on the table beside the bed.

  Killing him would take her to the gallows, and she doubted she would have the fortitude to commit murder. But, if he believed he had claimed his marital rights, perhaps he would leave her in peace for a while.

  She tiptoed over to the table and withdrew the dagger, willing the trembling in her hand to stop lest she drop it.

  Let all be well.

  She slowly peeled back the linens on one side of the bed, poked the point of the blade into the pad of her thumb and squeezed. She smeared the oozing bubble of blood on the sheets.

  Let all be well.

  She held her breath when the baron snorted, licking his lips. When he stilled, she wiped the dagger on the linens and placed it back in the scabbard.

  It was necessary to disrobe in order to ensure the success of the trick. Frantically, she struggled out of her gown and lay beside him in her léine, smearing another drop of blood on her thigh. When the baron’s eyes flew open, she flinched and stuck her thumb in her mouth. He turned his head, raking his gaze over her breasts as he reached to fondle one.

  Pray to God I look like a woman who’s been bedded.

  “Good morn, wife.”

  She took her thumb from her mouth and forced a smile, hoping she was fluttering her eyelashes in the correct manner. “Good morn, husband.”

  He grinned, but then looked down at his own body. “Good God, I was so randy I didn’t take off my nightshirt.”

  Nolana’s heart was beating wildly and she felt her face redden. “You were anxious, my lord.”

  He looked at her curiously. Would he believe her? He would punish her severely if he discovered she had tricked him. Suddenly, he reached over and yanked up her léine to peer at her most private place. She stifled a gasp when he traced a fat finger over the blood smeared on her thigh. He smiled then pushed her over to reveal the bloodied sheet. He patted his groin. “Hah. I may be getting on in years, but the old shaft still works well, eh?”

>   She pulled her léine down, avoiding his gaze, glad she hadn’t been obliged to look upon the old shaft. She doubted his body would be as pleasing to behold as Aidan’s, but she must stop thinking on that. “Aye, my lord. It works, and I am rather sore this morn.”

  Forgive me, Lord.

  He tucked his finger under her chin. “I’ll leave you to heal. Mayhap, I’ve already planted the seed of my heir.”

  “Mayhap, my lord.”

  Let all be well.

  Neyll eyed them warily when Grouchet escorted his bride to the hall to break their fast. Her husband was unsteady on his feet and bade her fill his trencher from the servery. He sat down heavily beside Neyll, boasting of his marital prowess with suggestive gestures.

  Men are arrogant fools.

  She must not get too confident. It was a reprieve only. The sentence had not been revoked. Neither man had the manners to rise when she approached the table and took a seat. She hoped she was blushing and looked sufficiently ravished as Neyll raked his eyes over her.

  The baron sliced off a chunk of cold mutton with his dagger. Nolana held her breath, unable to take her eyes off the weapon. He stuffed the meat into his mouth, then spoke, stopping only to swallow. “Off to England today...not a long journey...make it by nightfall...take my bride home...”

  Neyll protested, offering his hospitality, reminding his guest of his obligation. Grouchet was adamant. “If you want the coin, Maknab, you’ll have to come to England for it. I don’t wander around Scotland with large sums of money on my person.”

  He took a long swig of ale, belched and came to his feet. He grasped her elbow, apparently unaware she had eaten nothing. “Come along.”

  Nolana was happy to be escaping Maknab’s clutches, but fearful of being taken to a remote English manor. She would never see the heather-kissed hills of the Fells again.

  A Weight Lifted

  Aidan had to admit he was content to be home at Kirkthwaite. He saw reminders of his parents in every nook and cranny, but they brought poignant, happy memories and the grief wasn’t as sharp.

  Ragna fussed over him. He wondered how long that would last. She seemed determined to satisfy his appetite, but he didn’t object. It was good to have a full stomach again and his hands were healing well.

  He overindulged in bathing, ordering a tub every day and luxuriating in the joy of being clean. Leofric jested he was in danger of washing himself away.

  He could not wash away the memory of Nolana’s anguished face. His cock hardened whenever he remembered his first sight of her at the market. He had never ached for a woman as he ached for her, though they had barely spoken ten words to each other. She was in his blood, but beyond his reach.

  He could have stayed in the monastery, a bitter truth that brought on feelings of guilt. He had forsworn his pledge to atone. However, the notion of returning to Lindisfarne filled him with dread. He could never don the hated robe again. He was too fond of fine raiment and the way it made him feel. Why had he foolishly believed he could be a monk?

  He wandered around the house, remembering many happy times spent with his parents and siblings. One day, he summoned the courage to enter his parents’ chamber, undisturbed since their deaths. He perched on the edge of the bed for long minutes. By rights, the chamber was his as Lord of Kirkthwaite Hall, but the big bed would be a lonely place without a woman he loved to share it. Caedmon and Agneta FitzRam had repeated often enough how important love and passion were in a marriage.

  He had a vague recollection of suggesting sharing his bed with Nolana, but there’d been no opportunity to discuss such personal matters. He must have dreamt it.

  He stood and opened the armoire, empty now except for the journal his father had kept during the Crusade. Grief constricted his throat. Parts of it had been read to them regularly when they were children. They knew it by heart.

  The house was quiet. Ragna was napping and Edwin had gone out. He settled into a chair and unfastened the bindings. The parchment was brittle, the ink faded after nigh on thirty years but, as he read his father’s firm hand relating the horrors he had survived, he was moved to tears. He sobbed uncontrollably until he could sob no more. Curling up, he hugged the book to his chest.

  The light was fading when he woke. It was supper time and Ragna would be wondering where he was. Curiously, he felt better. It was the first time he’d truly wept since receiving news of the shipwreck. He and his siblings had endured endless days of hoping their parents might have survived. Then came utter despair as the unavoidable truth sank in. They’d somehow made it through a Yuletide of unbearable grief. Aidan shouldered the responsibility of consoling Ragna and Edwin, sending messages to Blythe and Dieter in Saxony, and to the Montbryces in Normandie. He was the eldest son. He had to be strong.

  Wiping away his tears, he noticed the codex lay open to an entry which described a dream. Wandering in Asia Minor, worn out and disillusioned with the crusade after an arduous journey across Europe, Caedmon FitzRam had not known if he would ever see his Agneta again and was unaware she had borne him twins.

  * * *

  The rumors about Xerigordon are enough to make the hairs on the back of my head stand up...except I have shaved off my hair. I remember the first time I saw Agneta’s beautiful hair. It was very short. What a bittersweet memory. I ache for her, in my heart and my loins.

  I’ve had a recurring dream. I ride up to a castle. Agneta is there, but she’s been transformed into a tree...a beautiful lush green tree. She smiles at me as I approach, and then I hear a sound. It’s birdsong. I frown, not knowing where the sound comes from. Agneta slowly raises her arms and they become branches. I look up at the branches, and see two birds nesting.

  I wish I could fathom what the dream signifies. I asked a Romany, but all he was interested in was my coin. He mumbled something about the castle foretelling great wealth. That surely can’t be true. Maybe I didn’t understand his language properly.

  * * *

  Though Aidan knew the passage well, its full meaning struck him for the first time. “Blythe and I were the two birds. Ragna was right. I am part of the heritage of this family. It is my responsibility to carry on the line.”

  He felt a sudden intimate connection with his father he had never felt before, despite their bond. Caedmon had ached for a woman, as Aidan ached for Nolana. He didn’t recall his father reading out that part. If only his story could end happily too.

  Happily? Caedmon and Agneta FitzRam had drowned. But they had lived happy lives with each other and their children. His father and mother would have given thanks that their deaths had saved the lives of their children. The family was painfully aware his mother’s days were numbered in any case. Aidan’s suggestion they sail on La Blanche Nef had not caused his parents' deaths. It had saved his own and his siblings’ lives. There was nothing to atone for in that. It was the fault of the drunken captain that the ship had foundered and sunk.

  An enormous weight lifted from his shoulders. He tied the bindings, clutched the book to his breast once more, kissed it and returned it to its proper place. He resolved to move into his parents’ chamber, feeling certain it was what they would have wanted.

  No More Wheezing

  Grouchet was too fat to sit a horse and chose instead to ride with Nolana in the wagon. She dreaded enduring his loathsome presence for hours, but a reprieve came when he soon fell asleep. The rutted road made for a bone-jarring journey, but her husband slept through it. They arrived at his Northumbrian estate without incident as the sun was setting.

  A small supper had been prepared for them. Nolana was unnerved by the pitying looks of the household staff. It was evident they feared their master and she had an eerie feeling they knew something she didn’t.

  She pecked at her food, though she had eaten little for days. Would he leave her be, as promised, or expect her to fulfill her marital duty now she was in his house? She suspected promises meant naught to him.

  He leaned into her. “Not hungry, I s
ee. Too anxious to enjoy another romp, eh?”

  She smiled weakly. “I am still sore, my lord, especially after the long journey in the wagon.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it better. Come.”

  Her belly churned. The time had come to accept her fate. Aidan was not about to charge through the gate on a magnificent steed. She allowed the baron to lead her by the elbow to their chamber where he summoned a maidservant to assist her. “I’ll go for one last nightcap while you prepare.”

  He had already drunk several tankards of ale with his supper and she considered it a wonder he remained upright. The timid maid helped her undress and don a pretty shift. It was of fine quality, but not new. “Whose...”

  “The mistress before you. She died.” The blushing woman bobbed a curtsey and left.

  Nolana climbed into bed and pulled the linens up to her chin. She would soon be forced to surrender her maidenhead to a callous brute she despised. She had foolishly expected more from life, but such was the fate of many women. She wondered if her mother had felt any love for Neyll Maknab. If she had not—

  Her heart raced when Grouchet stumbled into the chamber, already in his nightshirt. At least she had been spared the spectacle of watching him undress. He staggered to the bed and lay down heavily, thumping his chest with his fist. “A bit winded...the steps.”

  He lay on his back for a while. Heart thudding in her ears, she listened to his labored breathing. Only his death could save her now, but he wheezed on.

  God forgive me for wishing him dead.

  Grunting, he struggled to clamber onto his hands and knees, succeeding after three tries. “Now, the memory of last night’s joining escapes me. Let me see your delectable little body again, my sweet.”

  He shoved her shift up roughly, exposing her. Licking his lips, he reached to pull his nightshirt over his head. It was impossible to avoid looking at his maleness. Thanks be to the saints his head was covered momentarily. She might have giggled had she not been so afraid. She stared in fascination at what hung between his thighs…a wrinkled prune topped by something the size and shape of a crooked thumb. From what she understood of the marital act, it involved the male member being inserted into the female’s body. That couldn’t possibly work in this case. Perhaps there was more to come.