by Jo Beverley
“An improvement. But if that had been a man, never mind a small animal, he’d be no worse for it, would he? I want you to practice every day.”
It was such a brusque command, Madeleine itched to give a saucy answer, but she reminded herself she was proving her honor by perfect behavior. “Very well.”
“And you should be able to defend yourself,” he added. “After dinner tomorrow I’ll teach you some tricks.”
He unstrung the bow and went to put it away. Madeleine saw she had been dismissed, but she returned to the hall in an optimistic frame of mind. The embers were definitely glowing, and they were going to play these games again tomorrow.
Aimery took far longer than was necessary to put away the bow. In fact he skulked in the small stone hut like a coward.
It was all falling apart. Day by day he found it more difficult to remember why he must keep Madeleine at arm’s length. He worked himself like a devil so he would sleep at nights and rushed from the bed in the morning before temptation overwhelmed him.
Putting his arms around her this evening had definitely not been a good idea, and yesterday . . .
He laughed at the memory of her shrieks. When he’d seen her rosy with laughter, he’d wanted her with more than lust. She was a witch . . .
But if she was, she was the cleverest witch in Christendom. He’d watched her like a hawk. She was skillful, industrious, patient, kind. She found food in the forest and gave it to the poor. Which was the truth? The cruel, deceitful witch, or the firm and kindly chatelaine? His heart said the latter, but his head demanded caution. She was undoubtedly very clever, and it would not be beyond her to pretend virtue in an attempt to enslave him.
The next morning Madeleine took her own bow out to the butts and, having made sure the area was well-cleared, practiced. She heard the suppressed chuckles from those nearby, but she did hit the target once, and it was good to hear laughter in Baddersley, whatever the cause.
She fumbled through her busy day thinking only of the lesson to come. She couldn’t imagine what Aimery was going to teach her. Swordplay? She’d do her best, but she doubted she’d be able to swing a sword, never mind use it properly.
After dinner he took her not to the bailey, but into the solar. Madeleine looked around in puzzlement. It was the largest private room in the hall but still cramped for any kind of fighting.
He undid his belt. For a horrified moment she thought he was going to beat her, but he just slipped his sheathed knife off the belt and passed it to her. The hilt was beautifully bound with bronze and silver wire, and the pommel was a finely carved amber knob. She slid out the knife, and the blade gleamed wickedly sharp right down to the needle point.
“What do you expect me to do with this?” she asked.
“Kill if necessary.”
Madeleine looked at him and shook her head. “I’m a healer, not a killer. It would be useful for digging things out of wounds, though.”
“Use it that way if you wish, but be prepared to kill with it if necessary.”
“I can’t imagine wanting to kill.”
“Can’t you? What if your life was in danger, or that of a child?” He held her eyes. “What if some man was trying to rape you?”
Madeleine remembered Odo’s attack and admitted there were times for violence. She shrugged. “Teach me what you can, but we’ll not know if I can hurt someone unless the need arises.”
“I have no doubt about it. You’re a healer. You are already trained to hurt people when necessary.”
“That’s different.”
“You’ll find it’s not. Find a comfortable grip. The hilt is doubtless too thick for you. I’ll have something smaller made for you when I can. Your grip should be firm but not rigid . . .”
He worked with her for an hour, mainly pointing out the most effective places to strike.
“Pretend I’m attacking you,” he said at last. “I’m unarmed, and you have a knife.”
Madeleine looked at the vicious knife. “I’m afraid of hurting you.”
He gave a sharp laugh at the notion and began to advance. Madeleine stuck the knife out to hold him off. A feint and he had it off her.
“Never extend your arm like that. You’ve no power left to strike.” He returned the weapon and advanced again.
Madeleine kept her arm bent and closer to her body as he had told her earlier, watching for a chance to stab but still worried she might manage to wound him.
“I’m overconfident.” He sauntered forward. “I don’t think a woman dangerous. You can use that against me. I’m ogling your body instead of watching the weapon.”
He appeared to be, too, which made it hard to concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing. Heavens, if he wanted her body, she was more than willing. Playing along, she thrust her breasts forward and swayed her hips invitingly. She heard him catch his breath and smiled to herself. Perhaps she had weapons she’d never been aware of.
She kept her mind on her lessons, however, and when he casually grabbed for the knife as an unsuspecting man might, she dropped to her knees and drove it toward his thigh.
She was on the ground cradling an aching wrist. The knife lay across the room.
He knelt beside her and took her wrist in an unsteady hand. “I’m sorry. I really did underestimate you. Is it broken?”
She flexed her wrist and shook her head, trying to re-create what had happened. It had been too fast. He must have knocked her hand away. “How did you do that?”
He helped her to her feet, keeping a hand under her arm until he was sure she could stand. “A lifetime of training. But you would have succeeded if I had been as cocksure as I pretended. If you’d hit the right spot, I would have bled to death.”
Madeleine shuddered. “Then I don’t have to do this anymore?”
“Of course you do. There are many more things I can show you, and the stronger you are, the less of a liability you’ll be to me.”
That put the whole thing in a bleak perspective. Had she imagined that moment of power over him?
He went to pour her some wine. Madeleine prepared to flaunt her body in front of him again, her mouth dry with nervousness and longing.
He put the goblet in her hand. “You should probably bind that wrist up,” he said. “I’ll send your woman.”
Then, Devil take him, he was gone.
Once out of the room, Aimery took a deep, shuddering breath. It would be wiser to return to the earlier days, keep his distance, speak to her only briefly and of practical things. It was no longer possible.
He sought reasons to be alone with her. He was aware of her all day long. Despite tiredness, he had hardly slept last night as his body demanded hers and his mind insisted on control. He wasn’t sure what would happen tonight.
If he once lost himself in love with Madeleine, he would be lost forever. Sweet Savior, the quickness and courage of her. The wit, the beauty, the strength . . .
Once he was gone, Madeleine discovered her wrist ached badly. She wrapped a damp cloth around it and cradled it. Then she saw the knife on the floor. It was a gift from Aimery and she treasured it, so she picked it up and slid it into its sheath. The hard leather sheath was gilded and lined with sheepskin to keep the blade lubricated and sharp. This was a valuable weapon.
She put it aside for the moment, but since he wished it, she would wear it on her girdle. So far, she thought ruefully, she had received bracelets and a knife from her husband. He seemed well on the way to turning her into a warrior, but if that was what he wanted she would do her best to please him.
Then Dorothy was there, fussing and muttering about brutes and tyrants. Dorothy did not think much of Aimery these days, but Madeleine had decided not to tell her the truth about the beating. If the story got out, it would raise his reputation in the eyes of the women, but it might lower it in the eyes of the men. Now Dorothy thought he’d brutalized her again.
The maid prepared a soothing compress under Madeleine’s direction and tucked her i
nto bed. The wrist still ached and screamed whenever she moved. After a while, Madeleine knew she would never sleep.
“I think I had best have a little of the poppy, Dorothy.”
Madeleine drank it, and soon drifted into a deep sleep so that Aimery had little choice as to his actions that night. His mind told him it was just as well. His body ardently disagreed.
The next day Madeleine’s wrist still ached, and she had to bind it. She was irritated by the way it hindered her and made short-tempered by the poppy and the nagging pain. At breakfast she snapped at Aimery. He snarled back and strode out of the hall.
Madeleine released her frustration on a clumsy maidservant and then regretted it. Her head throbbed, and she decided she deserved a day of rest. Since she couldn’t even sew properly, she indulged in reading. Aimery came in at midday, clearly concerned. She reassured him that her wrist was not badly hurt.
To prove it to him, she went out to check on the work around the manor and found the open air did her good. Her head cleared, and her wrist didn’t pain her unless she tried to do heavy work. She also noticed yet more sympathetic looks from the women and used this to gain their confidence.
By the time of the evening meal, Madeleine was in good spirits. She deliberately left her bandage off, so as not to remind Aimery of the problem. What, she wondered optimistically, would this evening bring?
She listened impatiently to a boring discussion about fighting formations. Then the meal was over, and she and Aimery were alone. She smiled at him. “I think everyone is seeing my wrist injury as evidence of further cruelty. May I tell them the truth?”
“That I’ve been teaching you knife fighting? I think not. Most men would think me mad.”
“In case I decided to try out the weapon on you?”
He was cool. “You have seen what the consequence would be.”
Consequence or not, Madeleine would use a blade to try to cut through his forbidding manner if she could. It was as if the last few days had never been. “So,” she said purposefully, “what do I learn tonight?”
“I think you should give your wrist time to heal,” he said, and went off to join Hugh and Geoffrey.
Madeleine sighed and moved over to sit with the sisters until it was time for bed. She harbored faint hopes that something would change there, and even toyed with ways to use her body to entice him, but when she made her way to the solar he joined her. “One of the mares is about to foal. I’ll spend tonight in the stables.”
Madeleine found she didn’t sleep at all well without him beside her in the bed.
The next day she took advantage of the new sympathy among the women and gathered a group of them to go into the woods with her in search of wild herbs and fruits. It was a hot day, and they all wore just their shifts and kirtles. As Madeleine always dressed simply for work, she appeared to be one of them except that she alone wore her hair uncovered. No one—such as Aimery—objected to this practice, and she found a veil or wimple got in the way, but now she wished she had worn a head-rail. She felt set apart.
The women were all married and kept their hair covered. She had a thick, uncovered braid like a maid.
They all had at least one child with them, either trotting alongside or carried in a sling on the back. Madeleine’s womb was empty. She had had her courses since her wedding.
They all had men who mated with them often, sometimes—to Madeleine’s surprise—more often than they’d like. Listening to their frank, salty gossip, Madeleine was filled with an aching longing to be a true wife. She’d love to be pestered after a hard day.
As usual she smothered her pain in work. She taught the women about plants which were new to them, and she listened carefully as they explained their own traditions.
She was returning to the castle with her basket full of herbs when she saw Aimery talking to one of the peasants near the cornfields. Unable to resist, she sent the women on ahead and walked over to speak to her husband.
His companion looked up and saw her, said something to Aimery, and was dismissed, but not before Madeleine had recognized him. It was the other Saxon from that day when Odo had attacked her.
Her mouth dried, and a chill touched her as if clouds had blotted out the sun. She had convinced herself his treason was over, but perhaps it was not so.
She stopped, unsure what to do or say.
Aimery came over. Like her, he dressed simply for work. Today he wore a tawny linen tunic girdled with a plain leather belt. His only weapon was a long scramasax, and his only noble ornaments were his two rings and the bracelet on his right wrist.
“We need more hands here if anything is to be improved,” he said in a businesslike tone. “Now that the defenses are adequate, I’ll visit our other properties, and Rolleston. I’ll find some more cottars and arrange for supplies.”
“And leave me here?” she asked.
“You’ll be safe with Hugh and the two sisters.”
The place would be an empty shell if she didn’t have the comfort of knowing he was about, and she’d live in fear that he was being entangled again in matters that could destroy him. “I think I should travel with you,” she said. “I’ve never seen the other manors which make up the barony. And I would like to visit Rolleston.”
There was a flash of irritation in his expression. “If it hasn’t escaped your notice, woman, half the country is up in arms. William may have taken Warwick and put down unrest there, but Gospatric has raised Northumbria, Edwin and Morcar are still making trouble not far from here, and the Welsh and Scots are on the move. It’s hardly the time for a pleasure trip.”
“Then why are you going?” she demanded, half expecting a slap for her impudence.
“I’ve told you why,” he said curtly and walked away.
Fear-sparked fury burned in her. “I won’t be left here!” she shouted at his back.
He swung round and strode back. “You will do as you’re told, as a good wife should.”
“Wife!” she scoffed. “I’m hardly wife to you, Aimery de Gaillard.”
He grabbed her by her thick plait. “Miss the bedding, do you? I suppose you do. You were quick enough to learn the business.” With a leg behind her knees and a tug on her hair, she was flat on her back on the long grass with him on top of her.
Chapter 15
Madeleine was knocked out of breath, but she wasn’t complaining. His shell was properly cracked now, and the fire was burning high. Her body anticipated what was to come, what she hoped was to come . . .
“You don’t always have to throw me down, you know,” she said, daring to tease.
A flash of amusement lit his eyes before it was shielded. Emboldened, Madeleine raised a tentative hand to brush his damp hair off his cheek. Her body was humming with delicious expectations.
He shook her hand off. “A man needs to vent his seed from time to time. That’s what a wife’s for.” But his eyes betrayed him. At this moment he desired, and he desired her.
“I’m willing to be used that way,” she said softly. “I would like a child. I’ve had my courses since the last time.” She could see the battle waging in him and didn’t know which way it would go; she feared cruelty and hungered for tenderness.
Aimery looked down on Madeleine beneath him, and impossibly wild desire surged in him. She was nut-brown from the summer sun, but her soft lips were deep rose and open to him, smiling. Her warm brown eyes spoke of desire. Her body beneath him was firm and round and willing. He imagined it rounder, rounded with his child. He eased to one side and ran his hand over her flat abdomen.
She trembled under his touch. His hand was none too steady. His desire of her was a weakness, and one he had resolved to fight, but he already knew he had lost the battle.
It was hard to remember what the battle was.
He had taken no other woman, for he would not do that in his wife’s house, and his desire for her had been, at times, an agony. And here she was beneath him, weakening him with her dark eyes and soft lips, wi
th the tentative movements of her hips.
She was willing? He’d take his pleasure then, but with no thought for hers.
He pulled up her skirt. Her legs fell open at a touch. He adjusted her body and entered, swift and smooth. The first sheathing was so exquisite he stopped with a groan to savor it. How slick she was, how ready. He looked at her and saw no resentment of his treatment of her, only the flushed cheeks of wanton rapture.
It fired his blood beyond all control.
She gasped, and her body shuddered and tightened around him, drawing him higher. As he pulled back, the tightness of her slid along him, stirring him into a half-crazed mist of agonized delight.
To which he totally surrendered.
When he slid into her, as hard as iron, Madeleine gasped with perfect relief to have him where he belonged at last. A shudder passed through her, and she felt her muscles tighten, heard him groan.
She stared up at him. Against the high, burning sun he was all golden—bright golden hair, duller gold on the skin, and tawny in his linen shirt. He shuddered as he drew out of her body slowly and then slid in again. His eyes were closed, and this time she kept hers open, watching this thing she could do to him.
She saw color flush his cheeks and sweat leap to his brow. She could almost see the gasping breaths pass over his lips. Gasping breaths which matched her own, heat and sweat that surely marked her, too, and the movement of him . . .
The sun beat down. The sky above was infinite, a perfect blue. Somewhere a skylark trilled and trilled as if rejoicing in their soaring passion.
An ember roared into flame.
He threw back his head and gave a choked cry as rippling tension passed from his body to hers. A cry of her own escaped as his seed burst into her. She wrapped her legs and arms around him as shudders shook them both.