by Regan Walker
He let out a sigh and brought his mouth down on hers, his tongue stroking hers as he began to move within her, slowly at first.
She raised her hips to meet him, wanting all of him and relishing the feel of him moving inside her.
“Merewyn,” he said, kissing her neck, “you are truly mine.”
His voice was soothing, his words sounding sincere. “And you are mine.” At least for tonight. She would not look for more.
Their bodies were soon slick with sweat. She held on to him, letting him sweep her with him into a swirl of sweet tension, rising within her. When her release came, his followed quickly. He cried out and dropped onto her.
Sometime later, Merewyn awoke with the bells sounding Compline. Alex’s arm was draped over her chest, his warm hand cupped her breast and his groin pressed into her bottom. Her nipple hardened beneath his hand at the memory of what they had done.
She had given herself to Alex.
Never again would they be merely friends. Of course, William Rufus had other plans for him. The heir of Talisand was destined for a marriage linking Normandy to England’s king. What was she, a bastard, in so much royal scheming? But she would have forever the memory of their lovemaking, for she was certain he had loved her with his whole self.
Even if this were their only night together, she would have no regret.
“Alex,” she said, gently prodding him, “You must go, my love, before the others return and Nelda finds you in my chamber.”
His lips found the back of her neck where he pressed kisses to her sensitive skin. “You are ever sending me from your bed,” he teased. “I will go if I must, but with the greatest reluctance. I want to sleep with you, Merewyn.”
She turned to face him. “And I with you. But you know it cannot be.”
“Oh, very well,” he said, rising to sit upon the bed. Looking back at her, he picked up one long strand of her hair. “I like you all tousled.”
“Today is the barons’ meeting, is it not?”
“Aye, the king would discuss Scotland. William Rufus rarely consults anyone save his earls and that scoundrel, Ranulf. But today he meets with the barons. My mother will, no doubt, take you to see the wares of London’s merchants.” At her frown, he reached down to kiss her forehead. “You might even enjoy it.”
* * *
Alex stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth as his father rose from the table and announced, “We had best be on our way.”
“Are you certain I am included?” he asked. The king’s meeting was for his barons and key advisors. A few senior knights, like Sir Geoffroi, might be summoned, but Alex was not one of those.
“William asked for you by name,” said his father. “ ’Twas in the second missive the king’s messenger handed me at Talisand. His specific words were, ‘Bring my other wolf, the cub.’”
Alex cringed.
“No matter his name for you, William pays you an honor.”
Acknowledging the truth of his father’s words with a nod, Alex stood, humbled by the king’s faith in him. He could hardly resent the name “cub” when it was bestowed with the king’s favor.
Outside the manor, their horses were saddled and waiting. The morning was cool and a wind stirred, blowing his hair. Azor’s head perked up as Alex walked to the black stallion and stroked his neck. “Another trip to the palace, boy.” He swung into the saddle, noting the gray clouds in the sky and hoped the threatened rain would hold off until that evening. He smiled thinking of the two women he loved most spending the day together.
Rory and Guy, glad for a day free of the king’s business, came through the manor door to wish them a good day. Having offered to accompany Merewyn and Lady Serena on their excursion into town, the two knights had a mission that would keep them occupied, one for which Alex was grateful. With more of William’s army pouring into London every day, a few knights added to the men-at-arms who would accompany the women were welcome.
As he rode to the palace with his father and Sir Geoffroi, he experienced an unusual contentment as images of Merewyn filled his mind. He had managed to reach his bedchamber just as his parents were returning to the manor. After a deep sleep, he awoke in the morning with the most incredible smile on his face.
What was it about Merewyn that had filled him with the need to claim her? Other women were as beautiful; noble women came with wealth and lands; and he had never wanted for those who willingly came to his bed. But in Merewyn, he recognized strength like his own, a determination to overcome any obstacle and courage to reach the mark she had set for herself. He needed such a woman by his side. His heart filled with the love for her he had not spoken, satisfied in the knowledge he had demonstrated his love in the way he knew best. The passion he had aroused from deep within her was more than he could have asked for. But it was not merely passion that had driven him to claim Merewyn as his own. It had been love, a bond that grew with each day. He wanted to be with her, to have her at his side when he took his father’s place.
Now that he had made the lovely brave archer his, he had only to hold her. In time, he would tell his parents and deal with the king’s unwanted plans, but for now, ’twould be his secret.
They arrived at the palace along with a large number of nobles and knights who served the king. Inside the hall, men gathered around a table where the king sat with his brother. In addition to Ranulf Flambard, in attendance were Robert fitzHaimo, baron of Gloucester, and Earl Hugh of Chester along with a score of others.
Across from the king sat Duncan, the eldest son of Malcolm, King of Scots. While Alex had not seen him at the feast the evening before, it made sense he would be here now. As a lad, Duncan had been taken hostage by the Conqueror to secure his agreement with Scotland, but upon the Conqueror’s death, Duncan was freed and now served William Rufus by choice. Just entering his third decade, the tall, dark-haired knight had shared with Alex his desire to one day take his rightful place as Scotland’s king.
“It was my father’s wish when he sent me to England that one day I would return to Scotland to govern the people,” Duncan had told him.
Alex, his father and Sir Geoffroi approached the king, who gestured to available places around the table.
“Now that all my barons are here,” said William, “we will share our royal strategy with you. Our plan is to take the same route my father took years ago following the old Roman road north. My fleet of fifty ships, laden with corn, will meet us on the Tyne River to resupply us before sailing on to Scotland where my army and my ships will corner the wily King of Scots.”
Murmurs of agreement echoed around the table.
“Worked well before,” said Earl Hugh.
Alex shared a glance with his father and Sir Geoffroi and detected no objection in their eyes. The plan was sound.
He eyed Duncan sitting to the king’s right. What did he think of this plan to set upon his father? The knight’s face told him nothing. Mayhap he had lived so long among the Normans he was more at home with them than the Scots.
“With the lapse of time,” the king continued, “I expect Malcolm has retreated to Lothian and his fortress at Dun Edin. ’Tis where we will find him.” He looked around the table at the faces of his barons. “Do any of you disagree?”
Those sitting around the king shook their heads, Alex among them.
Duke Robert stood, goblet in hand. “It appears we are agreed. To the coming encounter with the King of Scots, a battle if it must be!”
All stood, even the king. “To the battle!” they shouted and quaffed their wine. But in his father’s eyes, Alex now glimpsed a flicker of doubt.
When the men began to disperse, entering into separate conversations, Alex strode to him. “Father, you have concerns?”
His father shot a glance at Sir Geoffroi, standing next to him. “I remember the Conqueror’s meeting with Malcolm in Scotland nearly twenty years ago. The Scottish king was surrounded, William’s army before him and the fleet behind him, and yet he bargained for peac
e and got it. The Conqueror was no fool. A battle on the Scots’ territory is not easily fought, nor easily won. He was happy to have Malcolm’s oath.”
“We were there to see it,” said Sir Geoffroi.
“But was not that oath extinguished with the Conqueror’s death?” Alex asked.
“Aye,” said his father, “but mayhap Malcolm can be persuaded to give it again.”
“If the king will agree to take it,” said Alex. “I am inclined to believe William will want more.”
Their conversation was interrupted when the king came to join them. “Good day to my wolves,” he said, “and to you, Sir Geoffroi.”
“Good day to you, Sire,” replied Alex’s father, inclining his head. Alex and Sir Geoffroi dipped their heads, acknowledging the king.
Fixing his eyes on Alex, William said, “You swept the young bowman, Merry, away so fast last eve, I did not have time to inquire of her origins. I would know where such a delightful creature comes from.”
Sir Geoffroi answered. “York, My Lord. Her mother was from Yorkshire and she was born there.”
“And her father?” asked the king. “Is he also English?”
Sir Geoffroi’s expression turned somber. “Nay, he was Norman, a knight.”
Alex’s father added, “Sir Eude is dead, Sire.”
“Hmm…” the king seemed to ponder, then asked, “Killed fighting the Northumbrians?”
“Nay, My Lord,” said Sir Geoffroi. “He was killed in York by my own right hand.”
The king’s reddish brows lifted in surprise at the senior knight towering over him. Alex had known a Norman knight raped Merewyn’s mother; he did not know Sir Geoffroi had killed the man responsible.
There was no hint of regret in Sir Geoffroi’s eyes. “He was a despicable man, My Lord, unworthy to be a knight. He brutally forced Merewyn’s mother, an innocent, and was about to slice the neck of a young orphan under my wife’s protection when I stopped him.”
The king tossed his mane of yellow hair over one shoulder and rubbed his short red beard with the fingers of one hand. “Some of my father’s men were mercenary knights, no doubt ruffians of the worst sort, but that was what he needed at the time.” Looking up at Sir Geoffroi, he said, “I cannot find fault with what you did. Mayhap ’twas best my father’s army was well rid of him.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” said the senior knight, looking relieved. “I can assure you we have done right by Merewyn. Earl Renaud and I have assured she was educated as a lady.” He glanced at Alex’s father. “She is not only a talented archer, but a virtuous young woman.”
Having claimed Merewyn’s virtue for his own, Alex was pierced by a stab of guilt. But it was not because he had succumbed to temptation. His intentions toward her were honorable. The timing had been hers. He did not believe the church’s blessing was necessary, but his mother would have preferred it. He would see Father Bernard when they returned to Talisand to be sure.
The king, who would dictate a different match, knew nothing of his joining with Merewyn. She was not even of noble blood. While it mattered not to Alex, he faced a difficult challenge to make his sovereign accept his choice.
“Where in Normandy was this Eude from?” asked the king, dropping the title “Sir”. Mayhap William agreed with Sir Geoffroi that the man did not deserve to be a knight.
“He was Eude de Fourneaux.”
The king narrowed his eyes, appearing to ponder this new information. “Ah yes, near Falaise.”
“Aye,” said Sir Geoffroi.
“Well, no matter.” William flicked his hand away from his chin dismissively and looked to Alex’s father. “Do you plan to return to the north soon?”
“I do, Sire. My lady is not often away from our youngest son and is anxious to return.” Smiling, he added, “The wild child bears watching.” Alex’s parents were not the only ones eager to return to Talisand. He wanted to leave so he could share the days he had before Scotland with Merewyn.
“By the face of Lucca,” remarked the king, “you raise yet another wolf cub for my army.”
A grin spread over the face of Talisand’s lord. “I just might, Sire.”
* * *
Shouts of merchants calling attention to their wares filled the air as Merewyn and Lady Serena strolled down Cheapside Street, meandering from one stall to another, delighted with all they found.
The merchants’ cries competed with the conversations of the hundreds of people thronging the narrow streets of London. The shops had been opened since the town bell rang at Prime and were now doing a brisk business.
“ ’Tis so different than the village at Talisand or the wares to be had in Powys. Even what I saw of Chester tells me this market exceeds what that city offers.”
“Aye, London’s market is large,” replied Lady Serena. “You can find everything here: fine cloth, the craft of the goldsmiths, sword smiths, pottery, spices and all manner of food. Even casks of Normandy’s wine are plentiful here. Yet I do not think their wool can match Talisand’s. Nor is their salmon so fresh as ours. But there are many things we cannot make that we can buy here. ’Tis why I wanted you to see it.”
Merewyn could smell the exotic spices overflowing large, roughly woven sacks stacked in front of the next merchant’s stall. “I smell cumin, ginger, cloves and pepper.”
They walked to the stall and Lady Serena told the merchant, “We will have some of that saffron you keep on the shelf.” She pointed to a carved box behind the merchant.
Merewyn watched as the merchant carefully lifted the box from the shelf and spooned some of the saffron into a small bag. “I have heard it is rare and highly valued for food as well as dye.”
“Aye and costly. The red threads of the spice come from a rare purple flower that grows in far-off Persia. A thread of saffron will lend an exotic perfume and savory flavor to a whole kettle of pottage and will dye the dish bright yellow.”
Merewyn was amazed at all Lady Serena knew. To be a countess required knowledge in many things. No wonder the king wanted Alex to marry a highborn woman. The reality of how little Merewyn had seen had come to her with their trip to the palace, now even more as the world of the merchants was opened to her.
“The first time I came to London, my eyes were as large as yours,” the Lady of Talisand said with a smile as she pointed to other spices she would have. She patted Merewyn’s hand, nearly bringing tears to her eyes for the kindness the simple touch represented. “You will learn, as I did.” When Lady Serena had made her purchases, the merchant handed her small bags of the spices she had selected.
Rory and Guy walked behind them, their hands on their sword hilts. Behind them strolled two men-at-arms. She was glad for their presence, for the streets were noisy and crowded with men whose rough appearance and leers made her uncomfortable.
Merewyn glanced back to see the two knights gazing longingly at the tavern on the other side of the street. She would have suggested they all stop for some ale, but she was certain a lady did not enter such a place and Rory and Guy would not leave them under penalty of Alex’s wrath.
They walked on until they reached the silk merchant. Lady Serena stopped to admire the silk, velvet and wool being sold. “We must have some of this,” she said, holding up a length of shimmering blue silk for Merewyn to see. “ ’Tis the color of your eyes and would make a fine gown. We could embroider it with golden thread. Oh, look,” she said, her attention drawn to the shelf behind the merchant, “he has the thread as well.”
The merchant picked up the thread and presented it to Lady Serena for her inspection. “ ’Tis fine golden thread, my lady. The nuns use it for altar cloths in the abbey.”
Merewyn was humbled by the generosity of Talisand’s Lady. After all, Merewyn was not kin to any at Talisand. “You do too much for me.”
Lady Serena paid the merchant for the cloth and thread she wanted, then placed her hand on Merewyn’s shoulder. “I would do more than this. Emma and I want to see you happy. We loved Inga as
we love you.”
An hour later, the church bells of St. Peter’s sounded Sext as they made their way to Fish Street where the smell of fresh fish was strong. She glanced over to where mackerel, herring, lampreys, eels and cod were neatly stacked in wet, hay-filled crates next to one merchant’s stall. On the other side of the stall stood several barrels. “What is in the barrels?”
“Probably crabs and lobsters,” said Lady Serena. “Crab would be good for supper. I will ask one of the men to buy some. ’Twill be wonderful cooked with butter, cinnamon, honey and a little vinegar. The cook at the London house has a wonderful way with crab.” She handed Rory some silver pennies and gave him instructions on how much to buy.
Listening to Lady Serena’s description of the way she would have the cook prepare the shellfish they would have later, Merewyn could almost taste it.
They walked on, passing stalls filled with all manner of summer vegetables, herbs and fruit. A few stops more and Rory and Guy were handing packages from more of Lady Serena’s purchases to the two men-at-arms who had resigned themselves to be packhorses for the day as well as their guards.
Suddenly, from out of the crowd, came Alex, smiling broadly.
She could not help but return his smile as she met his gaze, longing to reach out and touch him. But she said only, “The meeting with the king must have gone well.”
“Well enough,” he said, his eyes never leaving hers.
“You are alone?” his mother asked. “Where is your father? Your horse?”
“A messenger from the king called Father back to discuss some pressing matter. I had a stop to make so Sir Geoffroi went ahead to the manor and took Azor with him.”
“Was the meeting of the barons long?” Merewyn asked. Alex had left the manor before she broke her fast, causing her to wonder. Rory and Guy drew close waiting for his answer.
“ ’Twas short, but we lingered with the king after.” He glanced at her, then at his two friends. “William announced his plans and told me when he would have us meet him in Durham. The barons agreed to his plans. I can explain more when we are not in so public a place.” Then, to his mother, “If you are finished, I will walk with you.”