by Shana Abe
"That would be Bertram. He was very disappointed that I could not procure him one."
"Thank God. I can't imagine where we would house a bear."
"Oh, I found a perfect room right off the main hall," she began innocently.
"Don't even think about it. I'd have to keep a guard on the bear at all times to keep you from sneaking in to feed it and getting eaten yourself."
"Just a little bear," she implored with sparkling eyes.
"Have pity on me, lady. My heart cannot bear such worry."
He joined in her laughter at his sally, then finished it by pulling her into his arms and giving her a hungry kiss. He had been forced to watch her all night, resplendent in her black gown, consumed with pride that she wore his mark upon her shoulder, wanting her every moment, knowing they could not leave until everyone else had.
So he had made himself wait for her, allowing her to revel in the culmination of her hard work in preparation for tonight. She deserved to enjoy the party. He thought that she had. He hoped that she had, because now that it was over, all he wanted to do was take her back upstairs and make love to her all night long.
Half the night long, he amended to himself. Dawn was not that far away.
"Come away with me, my lady," he said, drawing her arm through his. She gave him no argument, just leaned her head on his shoulder and walked with him out of the room.
He thought, for perhaps the hundredth time, about how she was just the right height for him, which led him to think about how her hair was just the right color, her voice just the right pitch, her mouth just the right shape, her body just the right softness. . . .
In his chambers he began to kiss her slowly, thoroughly, lingering on her lips, tilting her head with his fingers and then drawing them down to her shoulders, to her breasts. Her arms started to slide around him.
"Oh!" she exclaimed, then pulled away from him. "I almost forgot! I'll be right back."
He pulled her back to him, letting her feel his arousal. "It can wait."
"No, no," she said, smiling. "I'll be right back, I promise."
He released her and she ran from the room into hers. Damon began to pace, then raked a hand through his hair, impatient with anticipation. Whatever it was, he ordered himself, be pleased. Act happy. It was still Christmas.
And it would be only a few minutes until he could resume the delightful activity of making love to his wife.
Solange appeared again through the doorway, holding both hands behind her back. She looked very excited, and very gorgeous.
"Are you ready?" she asked.
"Oh, yes."
She brought her hands forward and walked over to him. "Merry Christmas," she said softly.
Cupped in her hands was a miniature carving of two wolves sitting side by side, their heads tilted toward each other. They were cleverly carved from the same piece of polished wood; the narrow pattern of rings in it echoed the shapes of their bodies, giving the little wolves the illusion of movement.
He took it from her carefully. "Where did this come from?"
She gave a happy smile. "I wish I could tell you I carved it myself, but I think you know my skills better than that. I had it made for you though. There is a very talented woodcarver in the village. Godwin told me of him."
The more he examined the carving, the more lifelike it seemed. Both wolves had tiny chips of ebony for eyes. He thought they might even be smiling.
"Thank you," he said. "It's a beautiful piece."
"I was hoping you would like it. I know it's not a sword, or a mace, or even something useful, but I, well, I wanted you to have it."
"Solange, I will treasure it always," he said sincerely.
"And there's one more thing." She was gone before he could protest, then back again with her hands hidden. "I came across the opportunity to get this for you, and I knew you would like it, so . . ."
She brought forward a book, bound in leather, thick and heavy in her hands. He put the little wolves on a table and then picked it up carefully.
"Plantarum Medica," he read aloud from the cover page. "A book on herbs." He turned a few of the pages, noting the detailed illuminations, the clarity of the text. He was astonished. "Solange, where did you find this?"
"At the monastery," she said smugly. "I won it from Father Ignatius."
He thought he hadn't heard her correctly. "You won it?"
"Yes, well, I had to buy it as well. But I had to win the right to buy it first."
"When did you go to the monastery?"
She came up and examined the book beside him, ignoring the ominous warning in his voice. "Don't worry, my lord. I didn't go alone. You may be certain I had a full accompaniment of men with me."
"Which ones?" he asked smoothly.
"Don't be annoyed, Damon! I was perfectly safe. It wasn't their fault, I told them it was to be a surprise to you. And I went out only once, just to fetch the book. Aren't you pleased with it?"
She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, then turned another page in the book. It showed a delicately illuminated drawing labeled Tussilago Farfara in flourishing script. Coltsfoot, his mind automatically translated, good for coughs. Damon looked up at her. "It's wonderful. I must confess I am at a loss to imagine how you got Father Ignatius to part with it."
"It wasn't easy. First of all, I sent an inquiry to the monastery to see if they had any books on herbs, and if they did, if I could purchase one."
"Which Father Ignatius declined, of course."
"He was rather curt in his refusal. He did mention, however, that the monastery had several fine volumes on herbs, and none of them were for sale."
"I cannot believe he read your note at all," said Damon.
"I remembered what you told me, so I picked an herb from your collection, sorry, it was a very little amount, and wrapped the note around it. I prefaced it with a question to him, asking him if he could identify it."
Damon went over to the bed with the book and sat down. "You appealed to his vanity. Very resourceful."
"Thank you. Over the next few days I sent more notes, and still he denied me. Finally I hit upon something. I proposed that if I could answer any questions he put to me regarding angels correctly, he should sell me the book."
"He couldn't refuse the temptation to show you up."
"Of course not! So I rode to the monastery and answered the questions, and then bought the book."
"How many questions did he ask?"
She rolled her eyes. "A whole list's worth. I had to study for a week."
Damon began to chuckle. "My poor Solange. What you went through for me."
"I am pleased you appreciate it," she said primly, and then broke down into laughter. "He was quite furious at the end, I'm afraid, but he couldn't go back on his word. It's a good thing we are going to grow your own garden."
Damon placed the book gently aside and then went over to a trunk. "I have something for you as well."
Her laughter ceased, replaced with a fragile look he couldn't define. It made him uneasy, as if she were afraid that what he had for her was something unpleasant or frightening. He banished that thought, telling himself he was reading something into nothing. Nevertheless, he approached her slowly, then placed the necklace in her hands. "I hope you like it," he said awkwardly.
She bent her head and lifted her hands, cupping the delicate chain and pendant in her palms. The pendant was a string of flowers, she thought, but no, more abstract than that, golden petals with rounded, polished garnet hearts, and small pearls separating each. It was a perfect match for the ring he had given her so long ago.
"Merry Christmas," Damon whispered. He drew her down to the bed with him, nestling her beside him in the warmth, noting the stillness of her features, the glimmerings of tears in her eyes. "What's wrong, beloved? Does it not please you? I'll find you something else, it's not important, don't cry, my love. . . ."
"No," she said, clutching both him and the nec
klace. "It's wonderful. It's perfect. It's just that"—her voice broke—"it's just that I love you so much."
His unease disappeared with her words, replaced with a humble feeling that was still new to him: his unabashed love for her, reflected in each of her tears, in the warmth of her body curled trustingly next to his. He kissed the top of her head and she turned her lips up to meet his, and they began to celebrate that love in their own fashion.
Chapter Fourteen
"DO not," Damon repeated for the fourth time, "attempt to feed the hounds while I am gone. They are too wild for you yet."
"I won't," Solange sighed.
"You said that before." He crossed over to where she was leaning against the window, half in sun and half in shadow against the bright sky.
"I won't attempt to feed or water them, my lord," she amended. "But I do think you are wrong in this, Damon. Those dogs are very willing to be friendly."
"Nevertheless," he continued. "Do not—"
"Yes, yes, yes. I won't do this and I won't do that. You would think I were a child of five, not a woman of five and twenty."
This was an argument they had been having with growing frequency over the past week, ever since Damon had been informed that a journey to Ironstag could no longer be put off. A messenger had arrived, informing him that the steward there sent his greetings, and the most humble request that the new lord arrive soon, very soon, he prayed, to sort out the growing problems of an estate with no master in residence.
It was a scant month into the new year, but Damon supposed he had had longer than he deserved in avoiding this duty. He assembled his men with reluctance and prepared to leave as soon as possible in order to return to Wolfhaven, and thus Solange, that much faster.
She wasn't pleased that he was forbidding her to go. He had tried to explain to her that it was not a pleasure trip. It was going to be rough and rapid, cold and wearing. She had responded with the acrid comment that he must have mistaken her for some feeble thing, to think she could not handle a galloping pace and a brisk wind. Perhaps he had already forgotten, she had continued, that she was the one who had been ready to journey from France to England alone, weather be damned!
He had not forgotten. She had a wild spirit and a brave heart that led her places most rational men would fear to tread. God in heaven, how could he forget that? It was a constant worry of his, that her next escapade would be her last, and there would be no one but himself to blame. He was more than half tempted to bring her along just to keep an eye on her. He would miss her sore enough.
And there was no denying that he could not shake off the strange apprehension that gripped him whenever he thought of her alone, and therefore vulnerable. He told himself it was irrational, worrying over her when it was plain to see she would be well protected while he was gone. But the feeling did not abate.
He did not want to leave her. He was almost willing to include her on the journey just to eliminate this unpleasant sensation that ate away at his stomach, this acidic anxiety for her.
But then he would see her as he was seeing her now, a slight figure framed against the window. No matter what she said, no matter how free her spirit, she was still a woman, his beloved, and his responsibility. She was small and delicate, determined and yet seemingly unaware of her own fragility. She had survived the journey to Wolfhaven, but it had not been easy on her. He had seen the signs of exhaustion in her from the beginning but had been incapable of changing their path once it had begun.
She needed pampering, not a week-long rough ride. It had not been, after all, long a period since they had arrived here. He would not risk her health on such a routine trip as this. Chances were very good it would snow, perhaps several times, before they reached Iron-stag, and so they would not have the luxury of time in putting up full tents at night, with all the servants and cushions and fine foods that she deserved.
Still, it was not an easy decision for him to go without her. He couldn't take her, he didn't want to leave her. The best he could do was surround her with the thick walls of the castle and a contingent of his men while he was gone. She would be all right. She had to be.
Her face was pensive as she stared up at him now, the amber light in her eyes bright in the warm stroke of the sunlight.
Damon gave up his lecturing and instead pulled her into his arms. "If you would allow me to go with you," she said, muffled against his chest, "you need not worry about all the things you have forbidden me to do."
"I told you, we will go together in the late spring, perhaps, or early summer. When the weather is fairer and we may travel at our leisure. Remember, Aiden will remain here to supervise while I am gone. You must go to him if there is any trouble."
"There will not be any trouble, husband."
"No, because you will obey my commands. Won't you, wife?"
"Hmmph." She rubbed her face into him, sweet and pliant despite her protest.
"Solange. Have I told you yet today how much I love you?"
She turned her face up to his. "I believe you have, my lord, but only once or twice. It has not been nearly enough."
"I do love you, my wife, more than all of this earth itself."
"And I love you, my husband, more than all the stars above."
Through the panes of the glass window came the faint sounds of men shouting good-naturedly at each other, and horses stamping their hooves against the stone courtyard.
"They are waiting for me," he said regretfully.
"I will be waiting for you as well," she replied.
He kissed her, wishing all over again that he did not have to go. She kissed him back with her whole heart, clutching the shoulders of his leather jerkin, wanting to hold this memory with her until he returned.
"Damn," he breathed, breaking away. The men outside were shouting for him now. There was no time for what he really wanted to do. Someone would be at their door any second.
"Have a safe journey, beloved." She had a saucy smile.
"I will, if I am able to concentrate on anything but you," he said bluntly.
As if on cue, there came a heavy knocking on the door. "My lord?" It was Braeden's voice. "The horses are growing impatient. The men have bid me to come and ask you how much longer you will be."
"Tell them I am coming now." Damon reached down and brushed a strand of hair from her face that had escaped her elaborate braid. She sighed and patted his arm reassuringly.
"Do not fear, my husband. I will follow your instructions, at least until you come home to me."
"I know you will. And I will be back sooner than you think."
She walked him down to the outer bailey, where a group of people had gathered to see the men off. Damon mounted and saluted her good-bye, and then they were gone in a moving army of horses and men past the portal. Solange watched until she could see nothing of them any longer, until the sterling trunks of the woods enclosed them completely.
Mairi stood beside her, watching as well. At length she turned to her. "Come, Solange. Let's go work on the plan for your garden. A good distraction is what we need today."
"It is not my garden, it is our garden."
"Wolfhaven's garden, then." The group of people had already split up and gone to their various chores. The two women walked alone into the castle.
It was odd how the days seemed so empty without him. It was odd because it was such a new feeling to her; even the years without him had not seemed so vivid with loss.
She supposed it was because she had grown accustomed to his company again, but rather more his loving company. It made her dreamy, something she had not indulged in for a good while. The sewing circle of women had become used to her frequent pauses in mid-stitch, the faraway gleam in her eye.
And she in turn had slowly become accustomed again to the casual company of others. She had not wanted to go back to the circle until she felt fully prepared to interact with these women, but Mairi had insisted that she join them the day after Damon ha
d left, saying it was her duty now, as the mistress of the castle, to demonstrate a social grace to others.
Solange had conceded that point with much doubt. Part of her was still terrified of those others, illogically, stupidly, she scolded herself, but still, terrified.
It had taken time and repeated exposure to them to convince that shaken part of herself that these were not the women of Wellburn or Du Clar. Planning the garden and the Christmas party had set the roots to easing her fears. Everyone had been cordial and helpful; no one had an unkind word that she heard.
It opened up that shrunken space in her, let it blossom slowly beneath the honest congeniality of the people surrounding her now. Mairi's insistence on the sewing circle had shown an uncanny perception of what Solange needed and would not take for herself. The women there were gentle with her, gradually growing bolder with stories and jokes until Solange was laughing openly with them, encouraging them to tell more until the light failed or it was time to attend to other duties.
Mairi didn't even have to convince her to visit the nursery. She wanted to go on her own, and was placidly welcomed by the mothers and nurses there.
The children were more enthusiastic in their welcome.
"Lady Solange! Lady Solange! Are you here to take us to the field?" cried Bertram, bouncing up and down on his mother's lap.
"Why, no, I'm afraid not, Bertram. The field will have to wait for another day." Solange sat down on the floor beside William, who had been playing with a toy sword.
"Why not, Lady Solange?" A little girl ran up to her and tugged on her sleeve. "I want to go see where my tree is going to be again."
"Yes!" said another girl. "I do too!"
"Me too!" said William, staring up at her hopefully.
"The field has not changed since we were last there," Solange laughed. "And you all remember where your trees will go, I am certain. But if you like, we could bring out the chart, and I can show you on the paper where each of you has marked your spot."
This plan was met with resounding approval, and so Mairi produced the chart and the children pored over it, each declaring their own tiny dot of land the best, the most beautiful, the highest, the lowest, the closest to the castle, the farthest from it, or any other title they could think to bestow.