Autumn's Flame

by Denise Domning

  "I cannot comment on behalf of the Virgin, but I can hear you, Lady Freyne."

  Elyssa gasped as the sheriff called out his response. There was no mistaking his smooth voice; it always made his words sound like music. His call had come from the garden's back quadrant, the area surrounded by the hedge.

  Anger tumbled in on the heels of her surprise. This garden was set aside for the use of Crosswell's female guests, not its male residents. She stalked to the hedged enclosure.

  Lord Coudray sat on the bench, his feet resting near a small blaze. His head leaned back against the wall, the angle of his jaw suggesting he studied the sky above him. With his hood pulled close around his face, Elyssa could barely see his profile. Near the small stack of wood he was using to feed the fire, there was a skin, flattened. Beside it, a cup rested on its side, the lees of what had been in the skin spilling out onto the crusted snow.

  "What are you doing in here?" she demanded.

  "Why, whatever else but keeping Christmas," he said to the moon. "I am positively drunk on all my cheer. Now, I will ask the same of you. Why are you not in the hall?"

  "Because—" her word died half spoken. Because, she'd wanted time to grieve over her poor, lonely, abused son, who was none of these things.

  "Oh, but I am a fool," she told herself, anger spiking again. Her words tumbled heedlessly past her lips. "How could he go from me screaming for rescue, then change? I've cried myself to sleep for two months, certain he ached for me in the same way." She extended the parchment scrap before her and slapped it with her free hand. "Then, he has the gall to send me this."

  Lord Coudray freed a soft laugh. "How now, madam? Disappointed that your son hasn’t died as you predicted?"

  Elyssa caught her breath. "Mary save me, but that is what I'm doing. I'm angry because he thrives in his new life when I believed him incapable." Anger ebbed, but hurt remained. "Oh but, he has forgotten me."

  "I doubt that." Her warden shot her a sidelong glance then patted the bench beside him. "Come, warm yourself before the night makes ice of your tears."

  She hesitated. Beneath her hood, her hair was uncovered and undone. They would be without a chaperon. She all too well remembered the last time they were alone. Then, he had watched her as if he meant to eat her alive.

  When she didn't move, he turned his head and studied her. Firelight touched his face, laying shadows along his high cheekbones and the well-defined turn of his lips. His nose was fine and straight, his golden brows arched with the same perfect curve as his daughter's. She let her gaze move to the dark patch that shielded his right eye, then along his scars. As they continued to ripen they would die back into flat white lines. Maud must have used the tip of a knife to wreak her vengeance on him. In another year they’d be nigh on unobtrusive.

  There was a sudden softening in his face. "Bear me company this night, Elyssa of Freyne."

  Need lay so heavily in his voice, she gasped against it. His loneliness reached out to her, almost frightening in its intensity. But try as she might Elyssa couldn't turn her back on him.

  "As you will, Geoffrey of Coudray," she replied with a brief smile. "Best you take heed. You know well enough I have a cutting tongue and that I speak my mind. I'll hold no truck with you being insulted by me when you were the one who asked me to stay."

  "I stand forewarned." His smile flowed over his face, setting strong lines in his cheeks while it brought life and warmth to his features. She paused, surprised by her reaction to his amusement. His smile was a dangerous thing.

  She strode within the enclosure, pausing to lay Jocelyn's betraying missive onto the fire. It took light, sending the smell of burning skin into the still, fresh air. When it was consumed, she moved to his right, seating herself at the end of the bench. This left her too far from the fire to garner much warmth. She drew her knees up, setting her shoes on the seat and pulled her mantle around all of her. With her arms locked around her legs, she set her chin atop her knees and stared at the leaping flames.

  After a quiet moment, the sheriff shifted. “I think it more likely your son is distracted by the hurried activity of his new life than that he has forgotten you. Much to my surprise, that backward boy of yours progresses at great speed. Lord Ashby is right pleased with him."

  "You've had news of Jocelyn?" Elyssa scowled in irritation. "Why did you say nothing to me?"

  As she sat on his blind side, Lord Coudray had to turn his head to look at her. He lifted a golden brow. "Would you have believed me?"

  Elyssa made a wry face, the emotion aimed at herself. "Nay, I suppose not. By the by, my son wishes me to remind you of six kennet pups you were to send to Ashby. His messenger awaits your reply, planning a morning departure. I sent him to the hall so he might keep Christmas with the others."

  "They are on their way," he murmured in acknowledgment of her words, his gaze returning to the sky above them.

  Silence fell between them, but it was a comfortable quiet. In its embrace, she let her thoughts wander over the events of Jocelyn's life. She'd been so certain he couldn't tolerate becoming a squire. Why? There was no immediate answer to this question.

  As the moments slipped by, the cold worked its way through Elyssa's cloak and gowns. It truly was bone chilling this night. After a quarter hour or so she could no longer bear the discomfort. To keep her mind from it she spoke her thoughts aloud.

  "I cannot believe he writes to me of dogs. Until this moment, I would have told everyone I met that my son disliked the beasts. When he was but two he met nose to nose with one of his sire's hounds, an alaunt I think. It snarled and snapped at him, sending him screaming."

  She drew a breath, meaning to say that since that day she'd made certain he met with no more vile curs. Instead, understanding flashed through her. Jocelyn had been struck in the mouth by a ball, so she'd banned the playthings from their home. Jocelyn slipped on ice, thus no skating. Her own mishap with a horse had made riding impossible for her son. It was as Geoffrey had told her: she'd laid her own fears onto her son’s thin shoulders until they both believed him weak and incapable.

  This set a sense of failure into her heart. Elyssa shook her head, refusing it. Nay, everything she’d done she’d done for love's sake, wanting only to keep her son safe. Her teeth chattered gently.

  Lord Coudray shifted, waking her from her depressing thoughts. "I find I do not like you sitting where I cannot see you," he said, turning his head once again to look at her. "Sit here," he touched the small stretch of seat to his left, "and I will share my cloak with you." He turned back the garment's edge to reveal a lining of otter fur.

  Elyssa hesitated. To do as he wished was a plea for trouble when she ought to go back to the cottage. Ah, but it would be empty and silent in that room for hours to come. Well then, she should join Clare and Cecilia in the hall.

  She couldn't. The thought of the crowded clamor set her teeth on edge. She needed time to accept how her son had changed and understand why she'd felt it necessary to protect him so. At last, she simply sighed and did as he asked.

  He opened his cloak for her, then, once she sat beside him, put his arm over her shoulders to draw her nearer. Although it was a big garment, there wasn't enough to cover them both; it gapped over his chest and legs. He reached beneath the bench and brought forth a folded blanket. Even with that spread over them, there was an area of him left open to the cold. Elyssa shifted nearer to him, pressing herself against his side as she lifted the edge of her own mantle over his chest. A thick strand of hair came with it, streaming across his breast.

  "What is this," he chided softly, laughter touching his voice. He caught the strand in his fingers. "How incredibly improper of you, Lady Freyne. You have departed your door with your hair loose."

  "I assumed I'd be private," she replied stiffly.

  He only smiled and turned his gaze back to the stars. But, he kept her hair, his fingers toying with the strand. There was something soothing in his play.

  "What do you seek?" she
asked him, looking above her as she tried to see what so fascinated him.

  "Everything, nothing. Mostly, I am remembering things."

  "I hope your memories are more pleasant than mine," she said, lowering her gaze to the barren hedge across from the bench. The fire's light made the mass of intertwined twigs look like she felt, tangled and confused.

  "What troubles you?" He turned his gaze onto her, letting her hair fall from his fingers.

  They were so close she could see the day's growth of beard along his clean-shaven jaw. The stubble caught the light, gleaming in a color just a little darker than his hair. Oddly, their nearness didn't unsettle her. There was a calmness to him that spoke of safety. It was this that teased her into leaning her head against the bulk of his shoulder. Her mouth lifted into a bitter smile.

  "I have just learned that I am a selfish woman. I wanted so badly to protect my son that I denied him many pleasures. As a child, did I not skate and throw a ball?" She looked up at him without moving her head.

  The corner of his mouth lifted, and his gaze darkened into a blue so deep it seemed almost violet. "Did you? I would have guessed you the sort of lass devoted to stitching, always crying in complaint of a lad's tease."

  Elyssa's smile softened into one of true amusement. "I did that, too. All in all, I thought it more fun to run with my brother." Then, she sighed as regret washed over her. "I cheated my son. What sort of mother does this make me?"

  "One whose heart cannot bear to see a child hurt," he said softly. "There is much good in that."

  Relief and gratitude warmed her. "You are kind to so easily forgive me."

  He shook his head. "I am the Devil's spawn, not kind."

  Elyssa freed a breath of a laugh. "A vicious lie," she murmured.

  "What makes you so certain it’s a lie when no one else is quite as certain?" he asked with a lift of his brows.

  "You," she replied with a hint of smugness. "When I showed you my fear over Lady Sibyl's charges, you gloated."

  His brows rose higher still. "I did no such thing."

  "You did so," she insisted. "I saw satisfaction in your face. Aye, `twas brief, but it was there. You meant for me to be frightened of you. If there's one thing I cannot abide it’s a man who seeks to force me to my knees. It matters naught to me whether he uses his fists or tries to use my own emotions against me, I'd rather break than bend."

  His face relaxed, and a smile played along his mouth. "So I've noticed."

  She stared up at him, fascinated by his beauty. Not even Maud's scars could tarnish it. Her gaze moved appreciatively over his features. Aye, she liked his visage well indeed.

  He watched her study him in something that looked like wonder. "You watch me and see none of the horror others find."

  "What horror is there to see? You are a handsome man." Elyssa cringed inwardly at what she'd said. In telling him she found him attractive she offered him the advantage over her. Praying he hadn't noticed or, if he had, wouldn't attempt to use what she'd revealed against her, she hurried on.

  "Then again, I suppose others might not see you with my eyes, conditioned as I am by my sire. Before my birth my father took a blow across the face. It left him with a ridge from brow to jaw." She traced a line across his face to show him the path.

  He caught her hand in his, his thumb moving in a soft caress in her palm. "'Thus do you see beyond my scars. You loved your sire." It was more statement than question.

  "Aye and he, me. He died when I was but twelve." She loosed a sad sigh. Had he lived her father would never have given her to one such as Ramshaw as her warden had done.

  Her thoughts led by a twisted path from her father's love for her through her husbands to this man, her current owner, and how he ignored his own child. "Cecilia needs more of you than you give her," she said suddenly. "She longs for you. I saw it this morn when she looked upon your gifts."

  He gave a small shake of his head, his fingers intertwining with hers. Where his skin touched hers, there awoke a tingling. It made her breath catch.

  "She wants what I no longer am. Unlike you, she cannot see it’s me behind the scars. What lies upon my face stands between us like a wall."

  His words shocked her out of the pleasant haze of sensation he was making in her. "Nay, I cannot believe that." She straightened so she could look him full in the face. "A child as loving as Cecilia wouldn't do so."

  Once again, he shook his head. "You have had her as your own for two months now. Have you not noted that when she spies me, she runs?" There was soft sorrow in his voice. He released her hand and turned his gaze back to the sky above them.

  Elyssa frowned, remembering how Cecilia had clung to her yesterday as she had not done for a month. Yesterday, Geoffrey had returned. Disbelief lingered. There was more to Cecilia's rejection than simply scars; there had to be.

  Silence again lapped around them. She relaxed, settling her cheek against his shoulder once more. Before her, the flames danced, the constant shift and play of light lulling her into a sort of contentment she'd not felt in years. How strange it was to feel comfortable next to a man. Pleasant, as well. Neither of her husbands would ever have managed such stillness. His quiet was soothing, while his arm comforted rather than trapped her.

  Between the quiet and his warmth, her eyes closed. She sighed, wrapping an arm around him as she sought a place of comfort for her head against his chest. His hand moved against her sleeve in a soothing caress. The crackle and hiss of the fire seemed to say that this man was a rare one. Aye, she'd not felt so, not since her father's death. She drifted into a pleasant, timeless place, letting the moments slide by uncounted.

  "Do you know that I hate you?" It was a flat, emotionless statement.

  Elyssa straightened, all enjoyment gone. Yet, when she tried to win free of his embrace, his arm tightened. He turned his gaze on her again. She frowned in confusion. There was nothing to read in his face save the same contentment she'd been feeling.

  "If you do, then why ask me to stay?"

  "Why, indeed," he replied and drew a slow breath.

  The intensity she remembered from that October day returned and, once again, his look became like a touch, brushing against her face. It set her nerves on edge, but not with fear. Oh, but she was suddenly, instantly, aware of the man against whom she leaned. It was time she returned to her cottage and barred the door.

  "Do you not wish to know why I hate you?" His question was a husky breath. His fingers on her arm set her pulse to leaping.

  Elyssa bit her lip as she studied him only to shrug. "Is it because of the trouble I have caused you, what with Jocelyn and my defiance?" She tried to free her arm from his hold, but he wouldn't allow it.

  "Those are reasons for dislike, anger, irritation, not hatred."

  How could he smile at her and speak of hate? "Why then?"

  He reached up with his free hand and once again caught a strand of her hair. When he let it slide between his fingers she trembled at the caress. This sort of play was but a precursor to the games couples engaged in behind bedcurtains.

  His smile died. "Because Cecilia loves you."

  The hurt he carried stabbed past all concern she harbored over being lured into his bed to pierce her heart. He cherished his child the way her father had loved her, and he grieved for what he'd lost. Her eyes filled against what ached in him.

  "She touches you," he murmured. He rested his palm against her cheek. His skin was warm against hers, his palm, hard and strong. "She kisses you." His thumb moved gently across the fullness of her lips as if to reclaim what his daughter had set on them.

  The desolation in his voice released the moisture from her eyes. Her arms ached to hold him, to cradle him against her shoulder until he hurt no more. It was her pain on his behalf that seared a hot, wet line down her cheek.

  "Always a tear, Elyssa," he said with a quiet laugh, wiping away her heart's ache with his thumb. "For whom do you now cry?"

  "You," she replied softly. "I canno
t bear your hurt."

  He drew a deep breath, his hand returning to his side, then grew still as if her words had rendered him incapable of movement. "Best you leave me now. It’s no longer safe for you to be here."

  "Safe?" she cried, shaking her head against his warning. "Have I not been here almost an hour already? You have done me no harm. Besides, I cannot abandon you when you hurt so."

  She laid her hand against his breast. His tunic was velvet, the thick fabric soft against her fingers. Beneath her hand she could feel the pounding of his heart. How could what was broken beat so strongly? "I fear what will become of you should I leave."

  This time when he raised his hand, it was to draw his fingertips down the curve of her cheek. "It’s your care for me that demands you go. I am very drunk and drink can tease me into doing things I later have reason to regret."

  Elyssa stared at him, too startled by his words to pay heed to the sensations his touch woke in her. True enough, she'd seen the wine, but he was so lucid and calm. Ramshaw had been a raging bear with too much drink in him, while Aymer had giggled and grabbed.

  When she neither spoke nor moved, he laid a finger at the spot beneath her ear then traced a line down the curve of her throat to her collarbone. His touch set fire to her skin and made a terrible pressure build beneath her heart. Her breath caught against what she felt.

  Only in that instant did she see what her caring had awakened in him. He would seduce her, finding in his masculine pleasure a release from his own pain. She should go. Immediately. Aye, this very instant. If his mere touch could make her feel so, she'd soon be as drunk with him as he said he was with wine.

  "You mustn’t do that,” she warned him as his hand moved over her shoulder to rest against her nape. The pace of her breath increased. Mary save her, but this was very dangerous. And marvelous. Oh, but if it was so wondrous now, what pleasure would their joining give her? Her body urged her to discover it.

  "Run, Elyssa," he begged softly, his arm across her back tightening.