As Fawkes struggled with the laces, Nicola watched him, thinking how beautiful he was. His hair damp and loose around his face, framing his well-made masculine features. Relaxation had muted the sternness of his jaw, and made his mouth appear soft and sensual. For once, his fierce hawk eyes did not hunt her.
And his body. The intriguing contours of his chest—rounded muscles, dark nipples, black curling hair. The flat plane of his belly with the tantalizing arrow of hair leading downward. Down to that miraculous piece of masculine flesh.
She thought of touching him there. Mayhaps even kissing him. Then a sound outside made them both stiffen and glance at the door.
“I don’t care whose horse it is, get it out of my garden!” A woman’s angry shriek. The near inaudible voice of a man answering.
She met Fawkes’s gaze, feeling dismay. For a time they had been held in a spell of enchantment. As if there was no one else in the world but the two of them. Now the spell was broken.
****
Fawkes felt a bitter resentment. How dare his responsibilities intrude just when he began to realize his dream? But the world out there was real, while this one…
He had no idea what the last few moments meant. A kind of madness had overtaken him, and he’d cared about nothing but his furious desire, that white-hot lust born of years of longing. Now he could not help wondering what Nicola thought of it, if she’d enjoyed what he had done to her.
The voices outside intruded again. Nicola started lacing up her gown. He sought out his tunic. Once Nicola had arranged her clothing, she shook out her mantle, smoothing the blood-red fabric. Watching her, Fawkes felt an aching regret for the magical world of sex and sensation they had shared. It was over now. Reluctantly he extinguished the rushlights. Then he pushed the door open and went out.
He blinked in the sudden brightness. The storm was over and the sky was clearing. The world was transformed to jewel-like green, glistening with wetness. He went around to the other side of the shed and saw Nicola’s white palfrey grazing in a garden a few houses away. A village woman and a knight were trying to grab the horse’s trailing reins, but every time they got near, the animal shied away. Fawkes ran to help.
The garden was a slippery morass of mud. The mare maneuvered easily, but the three of them struggled to find sure footing. Fawkes almost fell twice, barely escaping landing in the black ooze. Finally, between the three of them, they were able to corner the beast. Fawkes grabbed the reins on one side, while the knight got hold of the horse’s bridle on the other. As he murmured soothing words to the mare, Fawkes realized the fair-haired knight helping him was Engelard.
“Isn’t this Lady Nicola’s horse?” Engelard asked. “Did you ever find her?”
Fawkes nodded to both questions. Engelard would have to think what he liked.
Fawkes led the horse to the shed. He wondered how much the animal had eaten while running free. Probably enough cabbage and other succulent vegetables to give it terrible colic. “Stupid beast,” he told the mare. “If you suffer from a bellyache and bloat, it’s no more than you deserve.”
Then he considered that his own situation was not much different. While the storm raged, he’d indulged himself in the erotic madness Nicola aroused. He wondered what price he would pay for his rash behavior.
Nicola came out of the shed looking delectable. Her already formidable beauty was heightened by her flushed glow, the unmistakable look of a woman well-tumbled. She’d given up on her braids and wore her hair loose.
Fawkes wanted to smooth it away from her face, then kiss her and hold her in his arms. But she seemed so distant and remote. “I found your horse,” he said. “Can you ride?” She nodded. He led the palfrey over to her. “I’ll help you up.”
The horse greeted her and suddenly became docile. Fawkes dared let go of the reins so he could grasp Nicola by the waist and lift her. The fragility of her body in his arms aroused a pang of guilt. She was such a fine-boned, delicate woman. And he had ridden her like a stallion.
He settled her on the mare and handed her the reins, then looked up. Was she sore? Another arrow of guilt afflicted him. He wanted to take her down from the horse and carry her all the way to the castle.
Someone called his name, He grimaced. “I’ll see you at the castle. Godspeed.” He slapped the horse on the rump and watched her ride away. The graceful white horse, Nicola, in her crimson mantle, her long hair black as midnight, streaming over her shoulders. A fantasy from his dreams.
But the fantasy was over, gone with the storm. The world was returned to normal. His body felt replete, deliciously satiated. But he still did not know where his wife had been, or what she’d been doing. Nor did he have any idea if he could trust her.
He returned to the shed to fetch his saddle pack, then went around to the cottage entrance. Seeing a bell on a rope, he grabbed it and rang it loudly. When there was no response, he shouted through the wooden door, “Reynard, you lustful prick, get out here.”
He shifted impatiently as he waited. He was about to go inside and drag Reynard out, when the door opened and Reynard appeared, followed by Glennyth. They were both decently dressed, and their relaxed manner suggested they had sated themselves some time ago and were lingering in the afterglow of their pleasure.
Reynard bowed low over the wise woman’s hand and kissed her capable tanned fingers. She smiled, looking amused and indulgent. “Mistress Glennyth, I bid you good day. It has been a pleasure.”
She nodded, her face smug with feline contentment.
“She seems an odd sort for you,” Fawkes remarked when they were a few paces away.
“I found her to be a delightful change from giggling maids and frowsy kitchen wenches. You know I’ve always fancied experienced women.”
“And is she?”
“Deliciously so. She has her own sort of magic, more subtle than the eastern dancing girl in Jaffa, but potent nonetheless.” Reynard gave a satisfied sigh.
Fawkes thought of his liaison with Nicola. There had been more than a little magic in it. Dark, dangerous magic.
“What of you?” Reynard asked. “Did you find the corn maid to your liking?”
“What? Oh, the corn maid. She started babbling about her sweetheart and how he’d done her down by the river. After that, I didn’t have the heart for it.”
“You know if the crops fail next year, it’ll be your fault.”
Fawkes snorted. “If the fertility of their fields depends on the potency of the man who rules them, it seems to me the people of Valmar should have starved years ago. You know Mortimer didn’t plow the belly of any corn maid in his time.”
“Maybe he had some other man do it for him,” Reynard jibed. “Speaking of which, did you ever find Lady Nicola?”
They’d reached their horses, which amazingly, had not broken free of their hobbles and run off. Fawkes went to Scimitar and busied himself with tying his saddle pack onto the destrier. Reynard followed. “Well?”
Fawkes turned, thinking of exactly how he had found Nicola, wet and wild-eyed from the storm. Of dragging her into the shed and what he had done to her. He took a breath and said, “Yea, I found her.”
“And…”
“I still don’t know where she was all day.”
“Did you ask?”
“Nay. We were… It didn’t seem appropriate at the time.”
“Well, you should ask her. It seems to me that most of the difficulties between you and Nicola could be settled by talking.”
Fawkes clenched his jaw. That was all well and good for Reynard to say. Words came easily to him. Not to mention he wasn’t easily intimidated by a woman. Perhaps that was it, the reason he had so much difficulty with Nicola. A part of him still felt like a squire seeking the favor of his lady. As much as he told himself he was now Nicola’s equal, and indeed, by law her master, he could not make himself act as if it was true.
Except when it came to sex. Then he had no difficulty forcing her to submit to him. In carnal matte
rs, he had no doubt of who was in control. Somehow he must learn to take charge in other matters besides those of the bedchamber.
They were almost to the castle now. He glanced up at the tower that housed Nicola’s bedchamber. He would do it. He would go to her and demand to know where she had been all day.
Chapter Fourteen
When she got back to the castle, Nicola decided the first thing she needed was a bath.
She had some squires drag a wooden bathing tub up to her bedchamber and fill it with hot, almost-scalding water. Old Emma brought towels and a bowl of soap. After tossing a handful of herbs into the tub, the servant asked, “Do you want me to bathe ye?”
Nicola shook her head. She wanted to be alone, to deal with the thoughts and feelings swirling in her brain.
Old Emma helped her undress and left. Nicola sank down into the steaming water, sighing as the blissful heat soothed her. The muscles in her thighs were tense and sore from riding all day as well as from lovemaking. Was she a fool to call it that? Did the sizzling fire between her and Fawkes have anything to do with love?
She had no doubt there was a bond between them. But she wasn’t certain it was connected with love, or even affection. A melancholy mood assaulted her. Fawkes had taken her to paradise, but it seemed unlikely anything would change between them. And if she was honest with herself, what she wanted was for Fawkes to care for her. To feel genuine affection. To love her.
At first her feelings for him were related to desire. But gradually she’d learned what sort of man he was. He was tough but fair, and willing to listen and learn, even from his underlings. When she and Warin showed him the castle’s foodstores and assessed supplies, he’d paid attention and been respectful of their knowledge. He seemed determined to be a good lord, to see to the defense of Valmar and look after the people who lived there. He even seemed to appreciate the effort she put into being a good chatelaine.
She respected Fawkes, and was pleased to earn his admiration. But she wanted more. She wanted him to love her. Perhaps over time it would happen. Perhaps the deep connection their bodies shared would lead to a deeper bond between them. But it still seemed she had a long way to go toward winning Fawkes’s wary, suspicious heart.
She stood to soap her body. After rinsing, she climbed out and dried herself, then went to the coffer and searched among the jars and vials stored there until she found a container of rose oil. She poured some into her hand and smoothed it over her skin. She recalled Glennyth grumbling about how many roses it took to make this small jar. After picking dozens of blossoms at the height of their lushness, the wise woman had crushed the petals and distilled them in oil.
Nicola recalled Glennyth teasing her about wanting a love potion. She’d dismissed the idea at the time. She was too worried about Simon and hiding the truth from Fawkes. But now the idea tantalized her. Although she was dubious of such things, most of the medicines and salves and decoctions that Glennyth made were effective. Even the elixir she’d devised to turn Mortimer impotent had worked. If Glennyth could make one man impotent, then perhaps she could also make another man fall in love.
Nicola slipped a shift over her head. She was still toying with the idea of visiting the wise woman when there was a knock on the door.
“Nicola. I need to speak to you.”
Fawkes! There was no time to get dressed. And what would be the point? He already knew her body intimately. She took a deep breath and called, “Come in.”
****
As soon as he opened the door, Fawkes realized he should have sent someone to fetch Nicola and had her meet him elsewhere. This place, with its memories of making love to her in that bed, was hardly the right setting for the conversation he wished to have. Worse yet, Nicola was wearing nothing but a shift, and he was acutely aware of what lay beneath the nearly transparent fabric. As if he wasn’t distracted enough, the room was filled with that beguiling scent he associated with Nicola. The fragrance entwined itself around his senses and ensnared his wits until he could scarce remember why he came.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to recall his purpose. “I need to know where you went today. You weren’t at the celebration in the village. Or here at the castle. Where were you?” He stared at her face, trying to gauge the truth of her response.
“I went to Mordeaux.”
“Mordeaux?” He had not expected this. “By the saints, what were you doing at Mordeaux?”
“I went to visit Hilary de Vescy. I told you we are friends.”
“But why today?”
“I knew you would be occupied all day with the Lammas Celebration. Holding manor court. Talking with the villagers. Accepting their gifts. And of course, the ritual.”
The ritual. The damned corn queen. Of course. Nicola would not want to be part of that. What wife would? Fawkes felt himself flushing. She probably thought he’d bedded the girl. “I didn’t follow through with the ritual. I pretended to, but I couldn’t go through it. She seemed so young. So naïve and innocent.”
Nicola nodded. Was that relief in her expression? Did she care enough that she didn’t want him to bed other women?
The thought pleased him, but he pushed aside his sense of satisfaction. He must remember why he’d come. His goal was to get beyond Nicola’s beauty and calm, cool competence and discover whom she really was.
“What did you do at Mordeaux?” he asked.
“As I said, I visited with Hilary.”
“It seems like a long ride to make to visit with a friend. You could not have spent much more than a candle hour or two in her company.”
“I have no female companion here at Valmar, other than Old Emma. I can hardly speak openly with the young women who work in the kitchen or the weaving shed, or the village wives. And even though Glennyth and I are comfortable with each other, our lives are very different. Only Lady Hilary shares my interests and concerns in running a castle household.”
Her response was utterly reasonable. And yet… There was something she was hiding. “Did you take Hilary’s son his new tunic?”
She started and her eyes went wide. Then she looked away. “It’s not finished yet. I haven’t had the time to do so.”
“It looked near finished to me. I’m surprised you didn’t wait until you were satisfied the tunic was done before making this trip. Now you will have to make another journey there to take it to the boy. What did you say his name was?”
This time her alarm was unmistakable. “Alexander. His name is Alexander.”
She was lying. Every instinct told him so. Why would she lie about the child’s name? Unless the child was more to her than simply the son of a friend. Was it possible Nicola had given birth to a second child?
But that was ludicrous. Someone as slender and delicate as Nicola could never have concealed a pregnancy, not in the final months. It must be something else. Perhaps this Alexander was close in age to what the babe who died would be and so she lavished her affections on him as a way for mourning for the child she lost. But if that was true, then why did she not tell him that?
Familiar frustration gnawed at him. No matter how he tried, he could not break through Nicola’s formidable reserve. Instead, every time he spoke to her, it fueled the aching doubt in his gut. Winning Valmar and Nicola had been too easy. He couldn’t help worrying that something was going to happen to snatch it all away from him. Something connected to Nicola.
She gazed at him expectantly. “My lord, will there be anything else? Almost everyone went to the village for the Lammas Feast, so there will be no formal meal this evening. If you’re hungry, you can ask for something in the kitchen.”
“And you? You didn’t partake at the feast. Aren’t you hungry?”
Nicola shook her head, but something in her expression made him sense she was reluctant for him to leave. He longed to stay, even if he did nothing more than sleep beside her. But his emotions were too much in turmoil.
“Very well. I’ll leave you then.” He must get away
now, while he was still able to do so.
****
“Aren’t you coming in?” Reynard asked, as he and Fawkes walked to the knights’ barracks after eating some bread and cheese in the hall. “We could share a jack of wine and you could join in the dicing.”
Fawkes shook his head. “I think I’ll go to bed.”
“With your wife?”
Fawkes didn’t answer.
Oliver walked by and punched Reynard in the arm. “What are you doing here, Reynard? Why aren’t you in the hayloft with some wench?”
“Believe it or not, I’m sleeping alone tonight.”
“Surely you jest!” Oliver clutched his chest in mock horror. “Can it really be true that the randy fox has satisfied his ferocious lust?”
Henry de Brionne leaned out the doorway. “The fox has at last been bitten by the love bug. And right glad of it, I am. Now there might actually be some wenches left for the rest of us!”
Henry and Oliver erupted with guffaws. Fawkes looked at Reynard, expecting him to deny his interest in Glennyth. To his surprise, Reynard said nothing.
A thought came to Fawkes. “While you’re spending time with the wise woman, you might give a thought to my circumstances.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m certain Glennyth knows what truly happened to the babe Nicola gave birth to. When she is sated and relaxed from lovemaking you could ask her about it. She might be truthful.”
“You think she was lying when you questioned her?”
“Not lying, nay. But choosing her words with care. There’s something she’s holding back, I’m certain of it. If I could unravel the truth, perhaps all would be well between Nicola and me.”
Reynard stopped walking and faced Fawkes. For once, his green eyes were deadly serious. “What if you don’t like what I learn from Glennyth? What if it’s true Nicola killed your son? Will you be able to forgive her? Even knowing she was driven to it by Mortimer’s abuse?”
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