by Speer, Flora
She was weeping again. She did that often after they made love, and Thomas had by now given up the fear that he hurt her in some physical way. It puzzled him. He did not want her to be unhappy.
“It wasn’t me,” Selene whispered. “It was the other one, the demon. It wasn’t me.”
“My sweet love, what are you talking about?” Thomas raised himself on one elbow to look at her. She seemed to him more beautiful than ever, with her loosened hair tangled across the pillow and her lips bruised and softened by his passionate kisses. He wanted her again at that moment, as much as he had wanted her half an hour before, and he marveled at her ability to stir his senses without even trying. He heard her whisper those strange words once more, and felt a chill down his spine.
“It’s the demon,” Selene murmured, her eyes closed. “Selene would never do such a thing, in a priory, with other people about, pull up her skirts and take a man. Not Selene.”
Terrified by those low, whispered words he could just barely hear, Thomas took his wife by the shoulders and shook her hard.
“Selene!”
The emerald eyes flew open, gazed blankly at him, then slowly focused on his face.
“Thomas,” she said in her normal, husky tones. “Husband.”
“Selene, what in heaven’s name—” His words were interrupted by a knock at the door, followed by Meredith’s voice.
“Selene, are you in there? Are you ill? Open the door, my dear. I need to speak with you.”
“We are found out,” Thomas said, forgetting his concern over Selene’s strange behavior in the humor of the situation. “Caught in bed with my own wife, and before the evening meal, too.” He scrambled to his feet, straightening his clothes hastily, then held out his hand to raise Selene from the bed.
“Selene, please open the door.” That was Meredith again.
“My hair.” Selene’s hands were shaking as she tried to smooth the shining black mass that tumbled freely about her shoulders.
“Don’t worry. Meredith will understand.” Thomas grinned at her and pulled the door wide open.
Meredith looked at him in surprise, then at Selene, still in great disarray, attempting to straighten her skirts and her hair at the same time, and lastly Meredith looked at the rumpled bed behind them.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” Meredith said, warm laughter lighting her eyes, her smile matching Thomas’s. “Shall we go away and leave you alone?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Thomas bent to kiss his wife. “I love you, Selene.”
He went out, brushing past a white-faced Arianna. He scarcely noticed her holding on to the doorframe to keep herself upright as she realized what had just transpired within that room, upon the bed where she and Meredith and Selene would all sleep that same night.
It took three more days to reach Afoncaer. They traveled more slowly than before, to ease the way for Reynaud, who lay rocking uncomfortably in a litter slung between two horses. On the morning of their departure from Wenlock Priory, Guy had picked Reynaud up in his arms and personally carried his old friend to the litter. There Reynaud was placed upon furs and blankets, his injured arm and what remained of his left leg eased upon pillows, and then he was covered with more furs until only the right side of his face was visible. He bore whatever pain this transfer caused him with great fortitude, nor did he complain.
“I fear for him,” Guy said quietly to Meredith. “He was so light when I carried him. He’s wasted away to bones and little else. And though he’s brave, I think his spirit’s badly damaged, too.”
“Bring us safe to Afoncaer,” Meredith said, both hands on her husband’s arm, looking up at him with love and trust, “only get us home to Afoncaer and I’ll do my best to make him well. And Arianna will help me.” Here Meredith put one arm around the girl who stood by her side, listening to their conversation with considerable interest.
“I’ve heard about your willing hands.” Guy looked approvingly at Arianna. “Reynaud told me how gentle you were with him, and how you did not flinch at the sight of the stump of his leg. Others were not so strong as they should be.” Guy’s glance had fallen upon Selene and he frowned.
“We should go if we’re to reach Shrewsbury before dark,” Meredith said, diverting Guy’s attention from Selene. He took the reins of her mare from the groom who held them, and himself helped his wife to mount. Then he gave the signal to start the last part of their journey.
They stopped for that night at Shrewsbury Abbey. The next day they rode north, past Oswestry on their left, heading toward Chester. They rode with the great earthwork on their left, the dike that had been made centuries before to keep the wild Welsh tribesmen out of the more peaceful eastern farmlands. This border, often disputed, was no safe place for women or invalids. The men-at-arms Guy had brought with him rode close about them during this final part of the trip, especially after they had turned due west, onto the road that ran past Afoncaer and then into the very heart of yet unconquered Wales. They were fortunate and met no raiding parties but had only to fight the cold and the wind, and frequent flurries of snow interspersed with sudden, blinding sunlight.
They arrived at Afoncaer near sunset of the third day after leaving Wenlock. To Selene it looked huge and forbidding, a solid, white-washed stone bulk, forcibly impressed upon the landscape. It was much larger than her father’s castle in Brittany, and much more strongly built.
Afoncaer lay on a high bluff between a deep river and a wild, rushing stream that met the river just beneath the tower keep. So fierce had been the Welsh opposition to Norman settlement here that the town which had grown up about the castle proper was enclosed within its stout outer walls for safety’s sake. But under Guy’s rule there had been a period of relative peace, and the town had grown steadily until now houses crowded behind the wall and some even spilled outside it, squeezed between the far side of the wet moat and the plowed fields that lay beyond the town.
“We need another wall,” Thomas said, seeing Selene’s wondering look at the signs of burgeoning growth. “We have to clear more land for farming so we can feed all these newcomers. We will use Reynaud to plan it all, once he’s well again.”
The farmland that lay outside the walls was relatively level, as was the area where the town had been built just inside the first wall. It was not until they crossed the drawbridge over the wet moat and rode along the main street of the town to approach the inner wall which surrounded the castle itself that the land began to rise. Before this inner wall, there was a deep, dry moat with a sharply slanted drawbridge over it, and a strong, easily defended gatehouse. Once inside the bailey, Selene could see the steep upward rise of the bluff, and the great, square tower keep that stood on the highest point of Afoncaer. Next to the keep and connected to it was a large stone building that must be the great hall. There were other buildings in the bailey, but it was growing too dark to see very clearly, and Selene was too weary to look. She would find her way around the castle grounds another time. She slid off her horse and into Thomas’s arms.
“Welcome home,” he said, planting a kiss on each of her cheeks before swinging her to her feet. “I hope you and I will live here long and happily, my love.”
They stood aside, watching in the cold dusk while Reynaud was lifted out of his litter and carried up the stone steps into the keep, Meredith and Arianna following close behind him.
“Come,” Thomas said, pulling Serene along with him to where Guy was talking with a man who had come out from the keep to greet him. “Geoffrey, well met.” Thomas let go of Selene’s hand to embrace the man.
“Sir Thomas! I can call you Sir Thomas at last!” Geoffrey pounded Thomas on the back. “For a year or so there, I doubted you would ever consent to knighting.”
“Here is my wife, Selene,” Thomas said, bringing her forward.
Geoffrey took her hand and bowed over it. He was shorter than Thomas and Guy, squarely built, with brown hair and eyes and an honest, open face that stood out clearly in the
light of the flaring torches held by Guy’s servants. Selene’s first impression of Sir Geoffrey of Tynant was of his squareness and brownness, and of his open affection tor Guy, whose squire he had been, and for Thomas, who had been his squire.
“Come inside,” Geoffrey said. “You must be chilled, my lady.”
The four of them moved up the narrow stone stairway and into the keep, Geoffrey guiding Selene through a small fore-building where a guard stood, then along a short, narrow passage, up a few more steps, and into the great hall. Fires burned brightly at either end of the long hall, and tables were being set up for a meal. Selene went at once to the nearest fire, holding out her cold hands to its warmth.
“You will want to go to your room,” Guy said to Selene, “and you will want your women to attend you. Where is Joan?”
“Probably with Reynaud,” Geoffrey replied. “She was always fond of him. She’ll want to see him comfortably settled before anyone else is. Yes, Sir Thomas, go look for her, she’ll want to greet you, too. We will stay here with your lady. My God, Guy,” Geoffrey went on when Thomas had left them. “What happened to poor Reynaud? He looks as though you’ve brought him straight from the battlefield.”
While Guy explained Reynaud’s accident to Geoffrey, Selene looked about the great hall, noting its pleasing proportions and the tall, glazed windows that would let in light during the day. Rich tapestries of many colors hung upon the grey stone walls, while bright banners were draped from the rafters. Beautifully carved stone mantels surmounted the two enormous fireplaces, one at each end of the hall, that gave both light and heat. There were several finely made wooden chairs sitting upon the dais, and the high table was laid with a spotless white linen cloth and lit by wax tapers in ornate silver holders. Herbs were strewn upon the floor among the fresh rushes. There was little sign of the usual refuse from previous meals that had always littered the floor of Sir Valaire’s hall. In place of the stench of rotting food and more unmentionable filth, Selene breathed in the scent of rue and lavender and mellow woodruff. The servants who were arranging the trestle tables looked well dressed and well fed, and surprisingly clean. Obviously, Afoncaer was a wealthy, efficiently managed place.
“And there has been no trouble with the Welsh while I’ve been gone?” Selene heard Guy ask.
“One or two insignificant raids into Powys,” Geoffrey replied, “before the weather turned bad. Even the Welsh don’t care much for battle during a blizzard. I’ll give you a full report tomorrow, and hear all your news, and then the next day I’ll be off to Tynant. Afoncaer is a fine place, my friend, and I serve the time I owe to you gladly, but Tynant is home to me. I’ll be happy to see it again, and to sleep in my own bed.”
“Is there often warfare with the Welsh?” Selene asked.
“There was in the past, under Baron Lionel,” Geoffrey told her. “But since Guy has been baron, it has been a quiet place. Sometimes I wish for a little battle, just for the excitement. We do have to stay on our guard always. You never know with the Welsh. You think all is calm and peaceful, and then suddenly they erupt into revolt, and you never know where it will be. Now, here is Joan, come to show you to your room.”
Selene followed the sturdy, grey-haired woman out of the great hall and up a spiral staircase to the third level of the keep.
‘Thomas chose this room for you before he went away to marry you,” Joan said, “because he had been told your eyes are green. I hope you will be content here, my lady.”
It was a richly furnished room, with a large bed curtained in green wool, and a deep window niche with stone seats on each side of the window, padded with green cushions. There was a bearskin rug on the floor, the walls were plastered and painted in green and gold, and two large braziers gave off welcome heat. Selene saw that the chests and baskets containing her personal belongings had been brought in and piled up against one wall.
“Your serving women are supervising the unloading of the rest of your things. They will be here shortly,” Joan said. She stood still a moment, looking at Selene as though weighing the younger woman’s merit, then added, “I hope you will make Thomas happy, my lady. I have known him since the day he was born, and I love him as though he were my own son. I wish you both joy of your marriage.”
“If you have known him all his life,” Selene said, “then you must have known his mother, too.”
“Aye,” Joan replied, her pleasant face closing in. “I was Lady Isabel’s servant until she married Walter fitz Alan and moved to Tynant. Lord Guy asked that I remain here and act as his chatelaine. He wasn’t married at that time, and he needed someone to manage the female part of his household.”
“Then you can tell me about Lady Isabel.”
“No, I cannot,” Joan said firmly, “except that she was a vain, selfish woman, who never thought of anyone but herself.”
“Perhaps you misjudged her. Surely she loved her son.”
“I don’t know whether she did or not,” Joan said. “My lady, if you’ll take my advice, you won’t mention Lady Isabel to the folk of Afoncaer. Those who remember her did not love her.” With that, Joan left her alone.
The woman was wrong, of course. Joan had misjudged Lady Isabel. Everyone had. Selene knew it, for Lady Isabel had told her so, during those friendly talks they had shared. Isabel had warned her that people would say harsh things about her and that Selene should pay no heed to their words, for they, poor souls, simply did not understand. Still, it was disturbing that no one seemed to have a kind word for Thomas’s mother.
Selene was not left alone for long. Thomas arrived to throw his arms around her and tell her how much he loved her.
“I have been to see Reynaud,” Thomas said. “Meredith has given him an herbal drink to make him sleep, and Arianna is helping to change his bandages. I cannot help but admire that girl, Selene. I scarcely noticed her before, but now I see her working with Meredith and eager to learn all she can, and I am glad she has come to Afoncaer. She’s a nice young woman, isn’t she?”
“Yes,” Selene said, not really paying attention to his words. She was wondering how to get out of the room before Thomas could coax her onto the bed and sweep her into that terrifying state where all she wanted was to come together with him until she lost her senses in wild, ecstatic lust. Feeling her heart begin to pound faster at the thought, she pushed him aside. “Yes, Arianna is a dear, good friend.”
“Then she will be my friend, too,” Thomas declared, attempting to take his wife into his arms again.
“Oh, Thomas, not now,” she said hastily. “I’m so tired after that dreadful trip. Couldn’t you be patient with me, and not insist on doing that to me until I’m more rested? Please?”
“Certainly, my love. I was thoughtless. I’ve no wish to force you, and we must very soon go down to the feast Joan has had prepared. Everyone at Afoncaer wants to meet you and to welcome you to your new home. We’ll make love later. Until then, I’ll take my pleasure in thinking about you.” He tried to kiss her, but Selene pulled away from him again.
“No, Thomas, you said you wouldn’t. Please leave me alone.”
Thomas tried to put aside his aching need for her, but it was impossible. Selene presented such a tantalizing puzzle that no matter what he was doing, he could never get her completely out of his mind. He knew if he insisted, and kept kissing and touching her, there would come a moment – and it would not take very long, either – when she would suddenly flare into uncontrollable desire and grab at him, using him as though his body were an instrument created solely for her carnal pleasure. When it was over she would be cool and distant once more and murmur about someone else taking her place. It was frightening, but it was wildly exciting, too, and it had been that way since the very first time they had made love, when such violent passion in a virgin had surprised and delighted him, and then left him feeling oddly uneasy. But there could be no doubt that she had been a virgin.
He watched his lovely wife directing the maidservants when they arrived
, overseeing the unpacking of her belongings and then his, and he thought he had never known a woman with such mysterious depths, so many secrets to be discovered. It would take a lifetime, a long, happy unfolding of their innermost selves to each other. Thomas, not half so experienced with women as he liked to think himself, looked forward to learning everything there was to know about Selene.
Chapter 6
Arianna’s room was also on the third floor of the keep, but on the opposite side from the room allotted to Thomas and Selene. She had asked to be placed next to Reynaud in case he should need help at night. Meredith, who shared the large lord’s chamber on the fourth floor with Guy, readily agreed with this suggestion, and ordered Arianna’s choice of rooms prepared for her at once.
Reynaud had been bathed and re-bandaged and fed, and had swallowed a cup of hot herbal brew before falling into an apparently peaceful sleep. Meredith set a young serving girl to watch over him, warning the girl to call Arianna or her at once if Reynaud should waken, and then departed the sickroom for her own chamber.
Thus, in the interval before the evening meal began, Arianna was free to unpack her few belongings. Her room was small and simply furnished, and Arianna was well pleased with it. It was built into the thickness of the stone wall of the keep, and had only a single narrow window, now shuttered against the cold, with one stone seat in the niche. The bed was just big enough for one person, covered in a lovely shade of blue-green wool, with matching curtains to draw at night. Meredith had ordered a brazier for warmth, and promised hot water for a bath would be sent soon.