“And growing to…fear…others. Even…own people. No. I will not have it…dying…leeching on you. Go with Alex.” His mouth worked, but no further words came and his trembling increased.
Terrified, Desiree clasped his hand tighter. “I will. I swear I will. And I will give the orders and be in all things the Lady of Exceat.”
The assurances seemed to calm him and just then Elias came in bearing Frewyn’s evening meal. Desiree made some inane comment about the food and reached for the napkin to spread over her gown, however, Frewyn would not let her feed him and insisted that she go and have her evening meal with Alex and Father Harold.
Afraid to upset him anymore and cursing herself for putting totally untrue ideas into her poor husband’s head, Desiree fled up the stair to the women’s quarters. She flew past the women at their various tasks, some carding wool, some spinning, some weaving. Two looked up as if to speak, but she shook her head fiercely and rushed into the chamber that had been hers since her mother died.
Even here, where Frewyn had never come, his loving presence could be felt. The beautiful double candlestick with its beeswax candles that sat near the small oval of silver polished so smooth and brilliant that she could see her face clear and undistorted were both Frewyn’s gifts to her. And at the foot of the silver mirror a strong brush of bristles set into a tortoiseshell back and a tortoiseshell comb, its tines smoother than silk.
Desiree sat on the stool before the shelf on which the comb and brush were set and swallowed bile. How could she! How could she have such feelings? Poor Frewyn. Poor Alex. God knew it was not Alex at fault. Alex hardly spoke a word to her if he could avoid it. He seemed terrified of her. Suddenly blood rushed into her face so that it was burning hot. He was afraid because he sensed her desire for him.
No. If that was true, she could not go down and eat with him, she could not. How disgusting! She sobbed once and then swallowed. But she had not even known she…desired…him before Frewyn asked if Alex had offended her. And Alex didn’t desire her. Or did he? Was that why he stuttered and stammered in her presence… Why he avoided her?
And she had to work with Alex if she wanted to hold Exceat. If she did not want to fade back into the nothing her father had made her, she must learn why invasion threatened, explain it to her people and convince them to serve.
She did go down. She did select food. But when she saw Alex her breath caught in her throat and inside her something fluttered like a trapped bird. But he did not come to her or look at her. He went to the table and poured meat drippings on a slice of bread, topped it with slices of meat, took two wedges of cheese and a large slice of pasty. Balancing it all carefully, he hooked a stool in front of the bench on which she had set her food and set his on the other end.
She would not sit like a dummy. “What—” she began, but Alex was turning away as she spoke.
He turned back, courteously, and said, “Only let me fetch a cup of ale. We should wait for Father Harold, anyway. He may know more than I, but if he does not, he too should hear what Sir Simon told me.”
Father Harold arrived with a short scroll in his hand. As Alex came up to them and set down his ale, the priest handed him the scroll.
“This is a letter from Sir Andre, Sir Simon’s deputy. See if you can make out what he says.”
Desiree remembered with a feeling of relief that Frewyn had ordered Alex to learn to read and write. As he put the scroll into his tunic, she asked how his lessons were going.
“To my own amazement,” he replied, “I am learning to read quite readily. Writing is another matter. I know what should appear on the parchment…but it never does. My hands are too used to hard things. A quill is fragile.”
Desiree looked at his hands as they reached for his bread and meat. They were nice hands with long, square-tipped fingers, his left hand showing a long, pale scar from the wrist bone to the knuckle of the index finger. Strong hands. Hands that could break a quill by accident.
She desperately thrust away the comparison with Frewyn’s limp fingers and said, “I think if you can read well, the writing is less important. You can always find a clerk to write for you so long as you can read what he put down and be sure it is what you meant.”
Alex looked hopefully at Father Harold who laughed. “What Lady Desiree said is true, but only to a certain degree. What if you wished to write a love letter? Surely you would not wish to confide that to a clerk.”
“I have no lady,” Alex said, sounding breathless, his ruddy complexion darkening.
Father Harold laughed again. “Well, you may, someday. Or what if you wished to write Sir Simon that we here at Exceat were planning some treachery. You would not want to ask me to write that.”
“Father Harold!” Desiree exclaimed.
Now Alex laughed too. “I cannot imagine it. And anyway, Sir Simon would only tell me to settle the matter myself. Besides, it would be the height of foolishness since Prince John will owe much to his French masters and will pick English bones to pay the price.”
“Do you really know that?” Father Harold asked.
Alex put down the piece of pasty he was about to bite into. “I do not know what Sir Simon told you, beyond that I was sister’s son to him. I was born and bred in Normandy where the King of England is also duke. What I know of my own hearing is that Prince John has sent out men to collect the duchy’s dues without express orders from King Richard.”
“It would be a little hard to get letters from Richard, who is in prison…no one knows where,” the priest said.
Desiree had been nibbling at her pasty; she swallowed hastily. “Please, Alex, begin at the beginning,” she said. “When I married Frewyn, King Richard had just been crowned and was preparing to go on the Crusade. But damage had been done to Exceat because my father…was not…was not paying the attention he should to the estate, and then Nicolaus raided. Frewyn had enough to do to preserve and restore Exceat, and he had to teach me everything. We really paid no attention to the realm at large.”
Alex smiled and also shrugged. “This is a case of the halt leading the blind. I am not native in this country so I can only tell you what Sir Simon told me. Unless Father Harold knows more?”
“No, I do not.” The priest’s voice was a little choked and he took a swallow of ale before he added, “When I came with Sir Frewyn, I… To speak the truth, I was troubled by his marriage and also I needed to learn my responsibilities in Exceat. On, early on… I think in the second or third year of the king’s reign—he was already abroad—there was a threat of rebellion against the chancellor the king had appointed. I remember Sir Andre came by and advised us to take neither side, which was advice exactly to our taste.”
Desiree frowned. “Why did King Richard, who was newly crowned, go off on Crusade before the kingdom was well settled in his hands?”
“Ah.” Alex blushed slightly but grinned. “Sir Simon’s answer to that, my lady, is not fit for a lady’s ears. To leave out all those kinds of words brings us to the simple fact that King Richard had taken the cross almost a year earlier, while King Henry was still alive, and King Richard is a man who honors an oath…even when it is not very sensible to do so.”
“Yet he killed his father,” the priest said.
“He fought his father,” Alex amended. “King Henry died in his bed, and not of wounds.”
Father Harold took another bite of pasty then shook his head. “Of a broken heart, it is said.”
“Likely,” Alex agreed. “But Sir Simon says it was not Richard’s rebellion that broke Henry’s heart. Richard and Henry were often at odds and the father was accustomed to that son’s rebellion. It was his other son, John. The trouble between Henry and Richard was mostly about John because Henry kept trying to take lands that were in Richard’s keeping from his mother to provide a domain for John.”
“There were rumors—that was just before Sir Frewyn came here to marry Lady Desiree, which drove all else from my mind—that King Henry threatened to disinherit
Richard and make John his heir if Richard did not yield.”
“Sir Simon did not mention that, but it makes Richard’s ferocity clearer and his alliance with King Philip of France more reasonable. What Sir Simon told me was that when King Henry was defeated, the price of the end of hostilities was that Richard should be confirmed as heir, a few castles were to change hands, and all those who fought against Henry were to be forgiven without penalty.”
Father Harold frowned. “Those terms do not seem heartbreaking.”
“King Henry, from what I heard, was not accustomed to defeat. But worse, King Philip gave Henry a list of those who must be pardoned and kept in favor…and the first name on the list of traitors was John’s.”
There was an appalled silence, during which Alex took the opportunity to finish wolfing down his bread and meat and make incursions on his wedge of pasty.
Desiree looked quite angry. “And is it not John who is threatening invasion?” she asked.
“Just so,” Alex said. “King Philip took an oath before the pope that he would not attack King Richard’s lands while Richard was on Crusade. Philip hates Richard and fears his military ability. He wishes to make what gains he can while Richard is a prisoner and cannot protect his lands, yet he cannot himself attack Richard.”
“So King Philip is using John. That is not right nor fair.” Desiree put down her cup of wine with a slight thump.
“Perhaps,” Father Harold said, “but does it really matter to us which brother rules England?”
“Yes.” Alex’s reply was prompt and firm. “To have a king who will not keep an oath is no good thing. Richard, if he can be brought to swear, will abide by his oath. Sir Simon also pointed out to me that though Richard may think of England as a milch-cow for his wars elsewhere, the wars will be elsewhere, not ruining our lands.”
“But this invasion,” Desiree said, sounding frightened now, “that will be on our land. Will there not be more bloodshed and damage if we resist?”
“Not if we drive them off,” Alex said. “A few may be wounded or killed, but if we yield it is likely that all will be put to the sword.”
“Why? Why would anyone hurt Frewyn? Or—or a woman?”
“So there can be no other claimant for the land they will seize. If John comes to invade England, he will bring with him the sweepings of France, men without craft or livelihood, men out of the prisons and those who have been exiled. What do you think those men will do here in England? Will they not try to seize lands for themselves?”
Father Harold now nodded agreement. “It is not the place of a man of God to encourage war, but in this case God will pardon our defending our lives. Also, a new king will replace all those who held office under Richard. And, yes, I remember that Richard sold those offices to the highest bidder when he was gathering money for his Crusade, but some of those who bought offices were worthy. Pembroke, and our own sheriff, Sir Simon. They are good men and have been just and honest in carrying out their duties.”
Alex finished his ale. “Here in Sussex we have little choice but to fight in any case. John, I have learned, has a personal quarrel with Sir Simon. Do you want a new sheriff who will perhaps work out John’s spite on those Sir Simon favored? Moreover, when I was in Lewes with Sir Simon, I heard Sir Nicolaus’s men talking. I did not hear enough for Sir Simon to challenge Sir Nicolaus, but I am sure he has some agreement with Prince John—”
“Sir Nicolaus?” Desiree’s eyes widened. “If he supports the invasion, he will surely attack Exceat. We must fight.”
Her voice trembled and Alex had all he could do not to take her in his arms. He could not prevent his hand from reaching out to touch hers.
“No one will harm you, my lady,” he said. “Not while there is breath or blood in my body.”
Chapter Eight
A trickle of fire ran up Desiree’s hand from where Alex’s fingers touched her. The sensation surprised her so much that she did not pull her hand away, which was just as well because Alex jerked back as if he had been struck by a spark like that generated from the rubbing of dry wool on polished leather. Fortunately, Father Harold did not seem to have noticed. He only thanked Alex gravely for his determination to protect them.
The strange thing, Desiree thought, nodding wordless agreement with Father Harold’s sentiment, was that the sensation did not disappear with Alex’s withdrawal. The sharp fiery prickling ended, but warmth flowed from the spot up her arm and then across her breast from arm to arm and down, suffusing her whole body. Her breasts tingled and she rounded her shoulders and shrank back a trifle because her nipples had budded out hard against her gown and were sending strange sensations into her belly.
“We must succeed with the fisherfolk,” Alex said, in reply to Father Harold.
His voice drew Desiree’s eyes to his face. It was no model of perfection—no golden curls or alabaster skin—as described in the few romances that she had heard minstrels declaim. Alex’s hair was sandy-red and tousled, and his skin was ruddy and rough from exposure, but the sensuous blue eyes, the strong chin and firm mouth… Desiree had to tear her eyes away from Alex’s lips. The single glance had somehow mixed the sensation on her hand into the touch of those lips, and the treacherous warmth and flutter had dropped from her belly to between her legs.
Never before had Desiree felt any sensation like that now centered in her woman’s privates, but she knew what the sensation betokened. What she felt was desire…no, lust. Between her legs was heat and moisture, a tension as if the lips of her nether mouth were becoming firm, opening…
“Why?” she gasped, forcing the single word from a parched mouth and throat.
Alex looked startled. “Why what, my lady?”
His voice made it worse. Desiree pressed her knees together, tried to speak and choked. Alex jumped up and fetched the flagon of watered wine from the table. He filled her cup and held it out to her. Desiree knew her hand was shaking too much to hold the cup and the notion of taking it from Alex’s hand and perhaps touching him made her dizzy. She pretended to cough, raising a hand to her mouth and gesturing with the other for Alex to set the cup down.
After a moment she was in control enough to lift the cup and drink. When she had swallowed, she asked, “Why are the fisherfolk so important?”
“They are our first line of defense. The invasion must come by ship. Even if our fisherfolk are too few to engage the enemy, which is likely unless only a few stray ships attempt our shore, our people can warn us of their coming.”
“Of course.” Desiree could feel the heat of blood in her cheeks. “What a foolish question.”
“Not at all, my lady. No question that increases your understanding is foolish. In fact, if you can, you should convince your fisherfolk that it is better for them to flee back to Cuckhaven to give early warning. If they do that I and my men can be waiting to repulse the invaders, which would be better than having them try to fight off the enemy ships on their own.”
“But if our men are hurt or killed defending Cuckhaven, will that not make fewer to defend Exceat?”
Desiree’s voice still trembled with her need, but she was sure that Alex and Father Harold would believe she was afraid, and she was content with that. Anything was better than Alex and the priest recognizing the lust that had shaken her very soul. Alex laughed and another stab of wanting coursed through her, but she suppressed it fiercely.
“I do not much fear our hurt, unless the whole armada chooses to land at Cuckhaven, and I do not believe that will happen. The main host will be aimed at Dover or Hastings. We will, I believe, only face ships that have gone astray or a small force sent to test the defenses of other landings. Besides, the only ones fit to fight after a day or more at sea will be the sailors and they will not leave their ships, or, at least, most of them will not.”
Desiree blinked. He was talking to her, his eyes fixed on hers, explaining as if she were someone worthy and important. The days when he looked past her were gone.
Under
her skin, in her flesh, there was a warm response to the strong, earnest young man leaning forward toward her. In her head was a different response but one just as eager. As she listened to Alex’s reasoning about what defense they must offer, she recognized that he was as thoughtful and clever as Frewyn. The combination was almost unbearably attractive.
Needing to be worthy of Alex’s explanation, Desiree said, “If the soldiers on board the French ships all come ashore and are engaged with you and our men, would it not be possible for the fisherfolk, who have been trained to fight, to attack the French ships? If we could capture a ship…”
She could see Alex’s eyes light with enthusiasm. His hand lifted. If he touched her, Desiree thought, she might go up in flames. She shrank back slightly and saw a telltale flush rise in Alex’s cheek as he diverted the gesture to lifting his cup of ale. It was empty. He rose to refill it from the flagon on the table.
“Now that was a really wise thought, my lady,” Father Harold said. “If you could explain to the fisherfolk that Alex and the men from the keep will protect Cuckhaven—otherwise they will try to drive away the French for fear their houses will be burned—they will be more ready to come with an early warning.”
“Yes,” Alex said, ale cup in hand, but he was more eager to speak than to drink. “And tell them that only one ship need bring the warning. The others would do well to stay at sea but disperse windward so that they might come down on the French ships as they try to beat out to sea after landing their passengers.”
“They can pretend to be fishing,” Father Harold said.
“There need be no pretense about it,” Desiree remarked. “A pretense might be noticed. If they are truly fishing the French will think them stupid or indifferent. Hmm…they might have to abandon their nets. Would it be worth our cost to promise to pay for the lost nets?”
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