Forbidden Love

by Maura Seger

  "I know."

  It took a moment for him to understand. In the pleasure of seeing her again and realizing that he had an excuse to spend time with her, he had forgotten her family. Of course her Anglo-Saxon sister-in-law would have told her about local fashions, though none of the ladies in a Norman household would wear them. Frowning at the reminder of all that lay between them, he left the chamber quickly.

  Chapter 3

  "What manner of man is Colin Algerson?" Guyon demanded, the very softness of his voice betraying his immense rage.

  The priest hesitated. He was quite young, pale and quiet of nature, and not eager for confrontation with anyone, let alone a Norman warlord.

  Staring at the hem of his brown serge robe, he murmured, "I have always found him honorable, sir. He keeps his word and fulfills all his duties nobly."

  Guyon badly wanted to believe the priest If what he said was true, Roanna was safe, at least for the moment But how could he be sure? . . .

  "If he meant to harm her," the woman standing a little to one side ventured, "surely he would not have sent a message offering to parlay."

  The priest nodded, pleasantly surprised to discover that the Norman's wife was apparently as intelligent as she was beautiful.

  Brenna's gray-green eyes were dark with worry. She had dressed hurriedly, not bothering to veil the silken mass of her midnight black hair. Her delicate features showed the strain of the last few days, but her slender body emanated feminine strength. Gently she touched a hand to her husband's sun-bronzed arm in reassurance.

  The Norman towered over her. When he turned, his broad shoulders and massive torso blocked her briefly from the priest's sight. Instinctively, he shifted enough to see the tender look that lit the warlord's amber eyes and softened the hard planes of his face.

  It was rumored that Guyon D'Arcy dearly, loved his wife and that their devotion to each other had survived many trials in the turmoil of the Conquest Seeing them together, the priest could well believe it

  Sensing his parents' worry, the little boy in Brenna's arms whimpered. He was only eight months old, but already strong and vigorous. Chubby legs kicked fretfully as he demanded attention.

  With accustomed ease, Guyon took his son and soothed him ably. The Norman retainers gathered in the hall were used to the sight of their lord caring for his son in ways usually left to women. But the priest was not. His eyes widened as he beheld a side of the fierce warrior he would never have suspected.

  When the child quieted, his father said softly, "If I followed my instincts, I would march on the Algerson stronghold at once."

  Several of the knights, always ready for battle, nodded eagerly. But Brenna reminded them all of where such behavior would lead.

  "The moment you were sighted, Roanna's life would be forfeit. To get her back safety, we must go slowly and cautiously."

  The priest allowed himself a small sigh of relief when he realized the Norman was predisposed to accept his wife's counsel. So softly that only Guyon could hear her, Brenna murmured, "She will not be harmed, my love. I know it."

  The words were far more confident man she truly felt, but her husband accepted them gratefully. Still holding Alain, he placed an arm around his wife's shoulders and drew her close. Silently, they offered comfort to each other.

  Had the little family been able to see their missing member, they would have been far less concerned.

  After a good night's sleep and an ample breakfast to which her restored appetite did full justice, Roanna sat in the corner of the great hall surrounded by sheafs of vellum, a pot of ink, and several new pens.

  The clothes Colin had provided fit her far more loosely than Norman fashions, but she found the pleated tunic in deep blue and the richly embroidered white surcoat that went over it to be quite comfortable. It had been on the tip of her tongue to ask how he came to possess such garments when there was no lady in his house. An obligingly garrulous serving woman saved her the trouble.

  "When his lordship's sister wed that Irishman last year, he lavished so many clothes on her she saw no reason to take these. They've been packed away in the storage rooms ever since."

  "Twasn't fit for anyone here to wear them," the servant explained matter-of-factly. "But for a lady such as yourself, they're perfect"

  The woman's ready acceptance of Roanna was not matched by all Colin's people. From the men she had no trouble, since they would not venture more than a surreptitious glance when they thought she wasn't looking. But the women were a different matter.

  Some treated her with dignified courtesy, a few were even friendly. Most, however, were clearly reserving judgment From one of two of the younger, more comely girls there had even been angry glares whose origins Roanna understood quite well.

  Colin was rarely out of her sight He had shared breakfast with her, showed her around his home, answered her questions patiently, and only left her alone when she at test settled down with the ledgers. Even then his absence was brief. After a few hours, he was drawn irresistibly back to her side.

  A slight frown furled her forehead as she looked up from the lists she was studying.

  "I think you are paying too much for salt."

  "Why is that?" Colin inquired mildly, more absorbed by her beauty than any household concerns.

  "Look here." She pointed with the tip of her pen. "A year ago the price was half what it is now."

  "A year ago there was no war in England. Since the invasion, merchants have felt justified in increasing all their prices on the grounds that there is added risk to them when they travel about seeing customers."

  "That's what the spice merchant who came to our keep claimed," Roanna acknowledged. "But my sister-in-law would have none of it She chafered him down to the standard prices, knowing full well few could afford to buy at all. While she was at it, she got enough to share with others who did not have her bargaining power."

  She laughed softly, remembering the scene. "The merchant went away muttering that she had beggared him. But he came back a few months later with more goods to sell, so he couldn't have been too badly hurt"

  Colin grinned at the story. But his silvery eyes were serious as he asked, "Can you haggle as well?"

  Puzzled, Roanna nodded. "Most ladies are well trained to get the best for our coin. It is one of the duties expected of us."

  A moment passed before he appeared to reach a decision. "There is a merchant due here today. If I show you the surplus goods we have to trade, would you deal with him?"

  A slow flush suffused Roanna's high-boned cheeks. What he was asking was a task for his wife.

  "Is there no one else? . . ."

  Colin shrugged. "I did it myself last time, with the results you see." A teasing smile softened his hard mouth. "As in Normandy, men here are not trained in such things. I have no difficulty identifying the best iron for weapons or knowing which leather is suited to saddles. But when it comes to—"

  "To more practical matters," Roanna interrupted caustically. She was sick to death of men's incessant preoccupation with fighting. "When it comes to keeping yourself and others fed and clothed, you end up being robbed."

  If she had expected Colin to take offense, she was disappointed. He merely shrugged philosophically and pressed home his point "So you will see the merchant for me?"

  Unable to think of a graceful way out, Roanna accepted reluctantly. No matter how well she did, she knew some in the stronghold would find fault. But she was determined that Colin at least would not be disappointed. Sparing a moment's pity for the unsuspecting trader who had no idea what he was about to confront, she began to list the supplies needed for winter.

  By afternoon, when the train of carts and mules passed through the main gate, she was ready. The merchant's arrival was greeted with great excitement Children swarmed around the wagons, eagerly speculating on what might be inside each barrel and bundle. The women kept a close eye on them to make sure they didn't touch anything even as they listened avidly to the merchant
's assurances that he had brought the finest quality of all the most desired goods.

  When the trading for the great house was done, they would have their own chance to acquire what small luxuries they could afford to ease their lives. Only the men stood a little apart, betraying no great interest in what was going on, though they missed not a word.

  When Colin greeted the merchant, the man launched immediately into a paean of flattery well honed from much practice. But his host might have been deaf for all the notice he gave it. Cutting short the discourse, he brought the trader over to Roanna and introduced them.

  "I have the honor to present the Lady Roanna, who will be dealing with you for me. My lady, this is Malcolm of Durham, Winchester, and various other places. He has a glib tongue and a sharp eye, but I trust you will have no difficulty with him."

  Roanna was already sure of that. She recognized the man well from traders she had dealt with in Normandy. He was small and wiry, with a weather-beaten face and sharp black eyes she had no doubt had seen everything at least once.

  Unlike some of his less wily compatriots, he had the sense to dress plainly. His fustian tunic and unbleached shirt could be seen on almost any freeman. Somewhere securely hidden away he undoubtedly possessed a household that would arouse the envy of any wealthy burgher. But on the road he maintained a modest air which did not fool Roanna for a moment

  "Ah, my lady," the man intoned unctuously, "what a delightful surprise. I had no idea his lordship had married."

  The object of his hastily preferred congratulations did not even have the grace to look embarrassed. As Roanna silently fumed, Colin said blandly, "Oh, her ladyship is not my wife. She is a hostage being held because of a dispute with her brother, Guyon D'Arcy."

  Under other circumstances, the merchant's reaction would have been humorous. He turned ashen and his hands shook as he darted a disbelieving glance from one to the other. The hard glitter of Roanna's amber eyes convinced him.

  "D-D'Arcy?. .."

  "You've heard of him?" Colin inquired impassively.

  "Uh . . . yes... in fact, I was going to his keep next .. ."

  "Splendid. Then you can carry a letter from the Lady Roanna assuring her family of her well-being."

  Such unexpected thoughtfulness melted Roanna's anger. She smiled gratefully, unaware of how her already remarkable beauty was thereby magnified.

  Colin swallowed hard, fighting against the desire to cover those ripe, moist lips with his own and taste the hidden sweetness of her mouth. Taking his leave hastily, he did not see Roanna's gaze follow him with a poignant mixture of bewilderment and frustration.

  To give the merchant credit, he recovered himself quickly. By the lime she had ushered him over to a side of the bailey where the surplus goods were laid out, he had developed a strategy for dealing with her. Or so he thought

  "I am sure you are eager to dictate your letter, my lady. So if you will just leave me to decide what these goods are worth .. ."

  "Hardly," Roanna snorted. "We might as well understand each other from the beginning. I have seen the prices you charged his lordship the last time you were here. They were far too high. If you have any thought of a repeat performance, you may turn your train around and depart right now."

  The merchant's mouth dropped open. Hasty words of outrage formed on his tongue, only to be painfully swallowed. The look in Roanna's eyes was one her brother's men would easily have recognized, it was exceedingly bad judgment to challenge any D'Arcy in such a mood.

  "Please... my lady... I assure you, I am an honest man. I ask nothing but fair trade for my goods."

  "Then we shall get on famously," Roanna assured him drily. "I will begin by listing Lord Colin's needs for the winter, then you can show me what you have to meet them. That done, I am certain we will have no trouble arriving at a mutually agreeable exchange."

  The merchant had no choice but to acquiesce. Glumly, he listened to her explain what would be bought, managing to hide his surprise when she read the list herself. Literacy was an invaluable asset in his business, but not one he cared to share with his customers.

  "I would like to see the salt first," Roanna instructed, "since that is the largest requirement"

  At the merchant's signal, an assistant opened a large sack. Roanna inspected it carefully. After tasting a pinch, she placed it in the palm of her hand with a swirl of water to make sure the grains were not of different weight. When they floated to the bottom at the same speed, she nodded.

  The merchant, believing she was convinced of the quality, smiled, only to have his satisfaction smashed when she said, "The sample from the top appears pure. I will take another from the bottom. While I am doing that, you may open ten more sacks to be likewise tested."

  Blustering, the merchant complained, "There is no need!"

  "Perhaps you are too honest to know that unscrupulous traders mix sand with salt to drive up their profits?" Roanna suggested, her tone making it clear she thought nothing of the kind.

  Since this was exactly what the merchant had done, he could only curse his back luck at encountering so astute a customer. Gesturing to the assistant, he ordered the sack retted and had others brought from beneath a tarpaulin.

  "This is the salt you want, my lady," he said resignedly.

  Roanna did not agree until she had dug a hand through each sack and made certain that the contents were pure. Then she smiled sweetly. "Now, as to the other spices . . ."

  There was no further attempt to show poor quality goods. The merchant brought out the finest seasonings and preservatives he possessed. Cloves, cinnamon, and nutmeg from the East passed before Roanna, along with mace, turmeric, and saffron. She made her selections judiciously before going on to consider the other foodstuffs the merchant carried.

  "This wine has not aged long," she commented after taking a sip. The merchant nodded resignedly, only to be pleasantly gratified when she added, "However, I believe a few more months will see it smooth and dry." Considering the size of the household and the general preference for ale, she decided to buy a modest amount for holidays.

  Bags of rice were inspected next This new arrival from the East was being well received in England. It stored easily and was versatile in cooking. The merchant had both white and brown, and Roanna agreed that equal parts of both were most useful

  His supply of dried fruits was rather less than she had hoped, but the quality of apricots, raisins, currants, pears, and plums was excellent Considering them essential to the maintenance of health during winter when there were no fresh fruits available, she was ready to buy all he had. But first they had to agree on the worth of the goods she had to trade.

  Despite all the upheaval of the last year, Colin's vast sheep herd had produced an outstanding crop of wool. Luxuriously thick with a high oil content that would make for soft, sturdy cloth, it was worthy of gracing the looms of the most discerning weavers.

  But the merchant claimed otherwise. "It is well enough, I suppose, to make rough clothing and blankets."

  "His lordship does not pamper his peasants with cloth fit for kings," Roanna shot back. "But if you are not interested . .."

  "I did not say that!" the merchant interposed quickly. "Perhaps with proper treatment, it could be made acceptable"

  "I do not doubt there are many weavers among the Walloons, Hems, and others who could work such magic."

  "I might be able to find a buyer," he admitted reluctantly.

  "I should think so, considering that the supply of English wool is greatly reduced due to the fighting and the looms of the Low Countries are going begging for lack of it. Now, what will you offer?"

  An hour later, the merchant rubbed his face wearily. Seldom could he remember such a long, hard battle with any customer. The Lady Roanna was remorseless. She might trade wool herself, so well did she understand its value.

  And when it came to the dried fish that was the estate's other major surplus product she was no less knowledgeable. The barrels of cod, eel, sal
mon, and haddock that were prized on the continent brought their weight in trade goods.

  As the afternoon drew to a close, the merchant had to be content with a fair profit, nothing more. Certain that she had gotten the best possible bargain, Roanna went off to write her letter. That proved far more difficult than the hours of chaffering.

  She began with a heartfelt apology for her impulsiveness, which had caused the present predicament, then went on to assure her brother and sister-in-law that she was being looked after so well that they had no reason for the slightest concern. Ending with a plea for their forgiveness, she sent them her love.

  Finishing the letter, Roanna left it unsealed. She presumed Colin would want to make sure she had written nothing about the number of men-at-arms in his stronghold or its fortifications, information highly useful to her brother should he be driven to attack.

  Going in search of him, she was quickly drawn to the training field, where dozens of men were hard at work refining their fighting skills. In deference to the warm summer day, they had stripped down to their loincloths to wrestle, practice archery and wield the immense battle swords on which their lives all too frequently depended.

  The sight of nearly naked men grunting and straining, their powerful muscles and sinews rippling with their exertions, was nothing new to Roanna. She barely noticed them as she stopped at the edge of the field, shading her eyes to look for Colin.

  The breath caught in her throat when she spied him. lowering above all the other men, his huge, supremely conditioned body glowed with the healthy sheen of sweat. Not an ounce of fat marred the perfection of his form. Yet he could hardly be called spare. His vast shoulders and chest looked more than capable of crushing any opponent The hard ridge of sculpted muscle along his taut waist gave way to a flat abdomen beneath which the loincloth left no doubt as to the vigor of his masculinity. Long, sinewy legs were covered in the same golden fur that glistened on his chest and arms.

  Roanna's brief glimpse of him in her bower had not prepared her for the piercing effect his body had on her. She was helpless to avert her eyes, even when Colin caught sight of her and dropped out of the drill. As he walked swiftly toward her, her mouth went dry and tremors quaked through her.