by Ling, Maria
Roland shrugged, then pulled her close to his body. Kissed her so gently she didn't grudge the pain. Stroked her waist and buttocks with one hand, slid his fingers in between her thighs, laughed as she resisted. That frightened her, she felt the chill throughout her body, he could take her as he chose and she knew it. She didn't dare to trust him, couldn't afford that luxury, for all he was in a good mood at this instant -- or appeared to be, at least. But he let her go, dropped her back onto the mattress, swung himself off the bed. She lay there discarded and once again afraid. Watched him wash and dress, saw the play of muscles under bare skin, shivered at the memory of his strength. Felt close to tears, because he was still her best hope of salvation, she couldn't afford to anger him and didn't dare attempt to leave. Though she might, at that, no one would care over much about a wandering peasant girl, and no Norman knight would trouble himself to search for her. Not even Roland, for all he liked her body, and her company too maybe.
But maybe he wouldn't force her, she thought, she didn't know that laugh had been a threat. All the same...the chill rested in her limbs, deep as winter frost lodged in the ground.
"Come," he said, in English, and beckoned to her. She rose then, washed and dressed likewise, submitted to his watching her. At least he didn't touch her any more. Not until she stood before him fully clothed, at which point he leaned to kiss her, then tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. And brought her downstairs for their customary meal as if nothing at all had happened between them, as if nothing had changed.
But it had. She felt it in every movement and in every nail's-width of her body. In every glance at him, and his at her, she could feel them touch her skin even as she refused to meet his eyes. No one else seemed to notice, Henry laughed the moment he saw them but was shushed by Alice, and after that the meal proceeded as usual. But they knew, Leofe thought, both of them, she couldn't conceal it from such a knowledgeable pair. Even Ymma and Cecile might know, though they simply ate and talked and appeared not to sense anything untoward. Maybe not, Leofe consoled herself, if they themselves had never shared in this strange and marvellous and extraordinary secret, they might not know. Though she caught Cecile's eye once, by accident, and the glitter in it made Leofe's stomach tighten.
But if they hadn't realised before, they must certainly do so when the rain cleared and the men took their leave. Roland stood before her then, grave and silent, without his usual smile -- but the tenderness in his eyes took her breath away. He raised both her hands to his lips, very gently, and finally flashed her that wonderful grin, broken teeth and all. It made her smile back, made her realise how happy she felt, how joy still coursed through her entire body and spilled from her skin.
"Tomorrow," they said together, she in French and he in English, and then they both had to laugh. He rode off at a jaunty pace, turned to wave as he disappeared among the trees, and she stayed to wave long after he was gone.
***
Bless the woman, Roland thought. Fastidious as any lady. Which made him laugh, for all he wished she'd be more amenable to his earthiest desires. Well, there was time. Plenty of time. She'd come a long way already, she no longer feared him -- at least he thought she didn't, there were moments when he wondered. But she'd been definite enough about taking him to bed, and once she'd made it clear that she wasn't to be swayed, he certainly hadn't felt inclined to argue.
And she'd been glorious. Better than he'd hoped for. Better than anyone, though he remembered a few encounters with particular delight. In time, though, trained to his tastes -- and he to hers, some touches he'd tried had brought a marvellous response, others not so much, he'd have to put some work into studying to please her. Agreeable work, he'd start the next afternoon. Looked forward to it, with a grin that brought several crude remarks from Henry on the ride back to the castle.
In time...yes. Oh yes.
Guillaume met him fresh from the tiltyard, with a scowl to curdle the hesitant new sunshine. "What are you grinning about?"
"A glorious day," Roland replied equably. "What's cutting you up at the moment?"
"Missed the quintain," Guillaume snarled. "Never done that since I was a boy."
"It'll come back to you," Roland said. "Sure you ought to be using that arm?"
"Fuck off."
"I'll take that as a no. Where's Geoffrey?"
"Mews."
"Thanks." Roland glanced at Henry. "Hawking?"
"They need their exercise," Henry said. "And my wife is partial to it."
"While you're busy attending to the demesne."
"Exactly."
"She could ride along with you," Roland suggested, driven by some imp that whispered in his ear. "Good hunting in those woods we passed through, I should think."
Henry gave him a long cold look. "We hunt together from time to time. Elsewhere."
"In the opposite direction?"
Henry growled. Made a fine pair with Guillaume. Before he had a chance to speak, though, his attention was diverted by the emergence of a couple from the mews. Geoffrey escorting Henry's wife, both looking well satisfied with themselves. Roland studied them with new interest, before recollecting himself and stamping down on suspicion. Geoffrey was courtesy itself, with ladies at least, and neglecting their hostess would be no part of his idea of polite attendance.
Roland had some ground to make up there, too. Guillaume -- eh, best they could do was keep him out of her way.
"I'm surprised they chose to go out," Roland said in as neutral a tone as he could manage. "Would have thought the rain too much for pleasure." He nodded greeting to Geoffrey as the pair approached, bowed to the lady.
"We were luckier than you," Geoffrey said, as if he'd heard the speculation -- as maybe he had, there wasn't much wrong with his hearing. "Got back just before the rain started. Though you don't seem to have suffered much. Find a convenient barn somewhere?"
Nothing wrong with his wits either. The expression on his face remained carefully bland, but Roland caught the brief glint in his eyes.
"Took shelter with one of my tenants," Henry replied, unmoved. "Rode back through woodland for the tail end of it. Barely damp." He took possession of his wife, bowed to Geoffrey. "I thank you for entertaining her in my absence. We do not often have much in the way of amusement here."
"Henry is devoted to the estate," the lady -- Maud, Roland recalled -- observed, with a serene glance at her husband. "He counts the day lost that isn't spent riding...around it."
Roland wondered if he'd imagined that slight pause. Glanced at Geoffrey, to find a comical look of worried guilt.
"Takes a lot of work," Roland said, with a vague feeling he ought to back his brother in this. "All seems pretty complex to me."
"Really?" Maud transferred the peaceful look to him. "Do tell me everything you've learned so far. I'm always eager to share my husband's interests."
"Don't," Guillaume broke in, severing the tension with one slash. "One thing I can't abide is steward's chatter."
"What a pity," Maud said. "Our guest -- " her glance lingered on Geoffrey -- "has been most engaging on the subject."
"About the only chance he gets to discuss it." Roland grabbed the opening with both hands. "Guillaume and I can't hold our own in such talk. Neither of us have land."
"So I hear." Maud raised her shoulders in a slight, disarming shrug. "No matter. I shall be fascinated by your accounts of Flanders tourneys. Your recent meet was, of course, remarkable."
Guillaume subsided with nothing but a grunt. He must be healing well, Roland thought. A day or so back, he'd have sworn at her.
"I challenge you to recall a word I've said about it," Geoffrey teased. Henry, on the point of steering Maud away, paused to give him a long look.
"There being so many," Roland said. Geoffrey grinned at him, Henry offered a faint smile, and the moment of danger passed. Maud floated away in the custody of her husband, and Roland seized Geoffrey's arm in a battlefield grip. "Tell me you're not hunting."
"
No need," Geoffrey said peacefully. "This one came to me."
Roland winced. "You haven't -- "
"Of course not. Well, only the once. What do you take me for?"
"A fool," Roland told him without quarter. "Do not -- you hear? -- do not mess around with my brother's wife. It's, well..." He trailed off with a fierce gesture, barely avoided slapping Guillaume across the mouth, braced himself for a blow in return. But Guillaume restricted himself to a snarl, and his dark eyes narrowed in thought.
"Stupid," Guillaume announced, after careful consideration.
"Thanks," Geoffrey said. "I always rely on you for clever stratagem. She's a pleasant sight, that's all. And her conversation is a deal more interesting than yours. Spare me the remonstrations."
"More interesting," Roland repeated. "Why? You thinking of settling down to run your own manor?" Guillaume scowled at him, but he ignored it.
"Thinking about it," Geoffrey said. "Yes."
"Coming to any conclusions?"
"Not yet. Depends on a lot of things."
"Such as?"
"This and that." Geoffrey turned his back on them both. Guillaume grabbed his arm and hauled him to.
"You're not leaving," Guillaume said in a low growl.
"I'll do as I choose," Geoffrey replied, with a prickliness unusual in him. "Don't presume to command me."
"Easy, boys," Roland said. "Let's talk it over after supper, shall we?"
They both snarled at him. He took that for improvement.
"We'll have it out now," Guillaume said.
"Once and for all?" Geoffrey gave him a supercilious stare. "Things change, you know. Even if I stay for the season, that doesn't mean I'm sworn to you for life. I'll carry on for exactly as long as I choose, and after that I'll do whatever I please. And it's no task of yours to order me about."
Guillaume's fist clenched, leather glove creaking.
"You'll stay for the season, though," Roland said, in as calm a tone as he could manage. "Right? Because you don't want to miss Flanders. You love it there."
"Hm." Geoffrey subsided. So did Guillaume, a moment later. "That's true. And I could head south afterwards. With or without you two."
"We'll come with you," Roland said. Inspiration struck. "See you settled. I might join you, actually. Always thought I might buy land some day. Guillaume can train my household troops, and we'll be your neighbours."
Geoffrey blinked at him, stunned. "You'll be -- I don't think there's an estate up for grabs anywhere near mine."
"There will be," Roland said. "Once Guillaume's camped out on the demesne for a while."
Geoffrey's face was like the stone carvings on a church wall. "You wouldn't dare."
"Wouldn't I?" Roland challenged.
Guillaume had caught up at last, and grinned with relish. "Think you can run me off your land or anyone else's?"
"I could and I would."
"You're welcome to try."
The pair of them glared at each other. Roland suppressed a grin.
"Supper," Roland suggested. "And backgammon in the great hall. Then we can talk."
***
"Do you have a woman?" Leofe asked.
Roland stirred. He'd been on the point of dozing off, sated and content, his flesh still tingling with the afterglow of pleasure. She'd lain so quiet on his chest, he felt her head rise and fall with each breath, stroked her hair with his hand. The silence had settled so deep and comfortable, he'd thought her already asleep.
But she wasn't. She moved now, raised herself on her elbow, turned earnest eyes on him. Beautiful eyes.
She'd spoken French, he realised. She was learning fast, Alice tutored her and praised her dedication. It was all for him, he knew that, it touched his heart. Even her pronunciation had improved. He could only hope his own attempts at English sounded as good to her.
"Yes," he said. "I do."
Her features froze. That devoted gaze faltered and dropped. "I understand," she said. Then raised her eyes to his again, determined now. "Your wife? Or another woman, or both?"
Foolish creature. "No wife," he said, and wrapped her in his arms. "No other women. Only you."
Her lips parted -- lush soft lips, marred only by a nicely healing scab. "Oh." She blushed a little, offered him a slight embarrassed smile. "I thought you did."
"You thought wrong."
"I need to know," she said, "if you mean to keep me or not."
Roland laughed and tightened his grip. "You're here in my bed."
"Cecile's bed."
"Eh," Roland said. "Any bed will do for me." He was used to inns and guest-houses, tents and open fields. He'd learned to sleep wherever he settled, adapt himself to any surroundings. It struck him now that Leofe had something of the same gift. Distraught and fearful though she'd been, and with reason, she'd taken many changes in her stride.
"I mean to keep you," he said.
She lay down again, beside him this time, nuzzled close to his shoulder. His fingers fumbled for hers, caught them and held them. She gave one small sigh of contentment, snuggled deeper into the mattress, relaxed. Roland lay still, listening to her breathing as it slowed, caressed her fingers. Stared at the soft gloom through the window, imagined other beds like this one, blankets thrown over bales of straw, hard cold ground. Always with Leofe beside him, warm and trusting, his to keep and hold.
###
CHAPTER 6
He was here. He was here, at last, and she'd missed him. Already, even though it was only from the day before. But these days were so long, like years they were, she aged and changed and grew with every passing hour. She lived, so intensely, it was as if every moment were new and fresh and wondrous.
And yet -- and yet --
She was safe. Warm and cleaned and comfortably dressed, well fed and cared for. Under the hand of a man kindly disposed towards her. It was more than she'd ever known, or ever thought to hope for, it was beyond any dream.
She was greedy, though. She wanted more.
Roland slipped the shift up to her shoulders, ran his hand over her bare skin with practised ease. There was that, too -- the knowledge that he'd done this before, with other women, and might do again, the possibility that despite his promise she was only a passing fancy. She'd take that, it was better than what she'd had, but afterwards --
There would have to be an afterwards. And she wasn't well equipped to handle it.
She'd talk to Alice. Really talk, in honesty and with nothing held back. There was nothing to lose, Roland made his own decisions, she'd already seen as much. He wouldn't take against her even if Alice did, or Henry, he'd find a way to get what he wanted. But they wouldn't take against her, she thought, they had no reason to. Though old fear died hard, she recalled too many occasions of sudden rage from the men of her house, for no cause that she'd been able to understand. And maybe there had been no cause, she thought suddenly, maybe they just wanted to rage and beat her, and did so without compunction, and made up any excuse to torture her the more.
Maybe they did.
The realisation stunned her, it was like a blow. She tipped over from the force of it, lost her balance and fell. Roland caught her just in time, held her in strong arms, stared into her eyes with -- could it be fear? Concern?
"Are you ill?" He'd managed that, by careful copying of Henry's response when Alice choked on a walnut. She had to smile, now, at the accuracy with which he reproduced the dry tone of his brother, so different from his own. It came out in English, never in French, they spoke very differently -- she could hear that whether she caught the words or not. She knew a great deal about him, what manner of man he was, but only moment by moment. She knew nothing of his past or his future, his wishes and his plans. They couldn't speak of that to each other, not yet, they knew only the present, their immediate surroundings, their bodies but not yet their souls.
"No." She managed to stand, leaned gratefully on his supporting hand. "I am well." She moved to kiss him, to prove her point, but he held
back. Watched her, with an expression of -- yes, it must be concern. Dropped her shift back to cover her body, shook his head a little.
"No," he said. "You're not well. You are -- " He broke off with that exasperated frown. "Not red?"
She had to laugh, and it came out too shrill and sharp, hysterical. "Pale?" she managed.
Roland still watched her, forehead creased. "I'll get Alice."
"No -- " She grabbed his arm. "Don't disturb them. And don't go." She breathed in, deep as she could, forced herself to settle. And maybe she could tell him the truth after all, maybe she could risk it. He wouldn't hand her back to her family. Or if he were a man to do that, she needed to know. Soon, now even, so that she could lay plans of her own. For escape, if necessary.
She steadied herself, rummaged through her French words, gave up, continued in English. "I am afraid. Of you. Of men. Because I'm used to beatings and hard words, I'm used to being blamed for everything. I won't allow that any more. I won't let you send me back to them. And I want you to know -- to understand -- I'm so grateful to you for rescuing me, for saving me, I want to stay with you and give you pleasure. But I'm afraid that you'll tire of me, or be angry with me, over something I don't even know, and that you'll hand me back to my family, or throw me out with nothing, and leave me at the mercy of men such as they." Leofe paused, drew breath, sought reassurance in his eyes. Realised that he was shaking his head, very slightly, with the faintest of apologetic smiles.
"I'm sorry," he said in French. "I don't understand."
Which he didn't, of course. She'd run on too far and too fast. But she felt better now that she'd said it, even if she hadn't been heard.
"It doesn't matter," she said in French, with a shrug that was the best imitation of Alice's she could produce.
"It does matter," Roland said. "I am sorry."
He raised her hand to his lips and kissed it, very delicately. Then pulled her gently towards the games table, she always set it out for him. But Leofe pulled back, she didn't want him to think she was refusing him, and she didn't want to refuse him, she wanted to feel close to him, feel the reassurance of his body warm against her own. It steadied her, she felt safe with him then.