The Warrior and the Dove - A Short Novel (Medieval Chronicles)

by Julia Byrne

  Hugh thought about the man he knew only by sight and reputation, and didn’t like any of the answers. A great hulking brute, probably in his forties by now. There had been rumors a few years ago that his first wife had thrown herself from the top of his keep. His second wife, a Norman heiress, had also died young, leaving their two small sons motherless. What had the man intended for Annith?

  Hugh clenched his hand around the reins, causing his horse to toss its head in protest. He had to force his fingers to relax one by one before his grip eased. He needed to stop torturing himself with hideous possibilities. He needed to get himself under control, because unless Annith had remembered everything while he’d been gone, and was now distraught, tonight he intended to make her his wife physically as well as legally. Of that step, at least, he was certain. To his mind she was still innocent, even if that innocence turned out to be the result of her loss of memory. He wanted to teach her that their joining would hold nothing but pleasure for her, before any possible memory of fear or brutality returned. Which meant he had a decision to make.

  How much was he going to tell her of what he had learned this day?

  CHAPTER NINE

  When the knock came at the door, Annith rushed across the room to open it. She was sure her face fell all the way to the floor when she discovered one of the maidservants on the threshold instead of Hugh.

  The girl gave her a knowing smile over the top of the bundle of clothes in her arms. “Lord de Verney asked me to bring you these, my lady. And I’m to say he will join you directly. He is bathing in my lord’s quarters.”

  “Oh. Thank you, Jennet,” she said, recalling the name from earlier as the girl walked into the room and placed the garments on the bed. “And will you have more food sent up, please. I expect Lord Hugh will be hungry.”

  She felt quite wifely as she spoke, but Jennet apparently thought her comment hilarious. She broke into giggles. “There’ll be no doubt about that,” she agreed with an impudent wink. Still chuckling, she left the room.

  Annith blinked at the closed door. Jennet certainly had an odd notion of humor. But the girl’s mirth was quickly forgotten when she turned to the bed. A breath of sheer feminine delight parted her lips. In all her years at the convent she had worn nothing but brown wool gowns; never had she seen such rich colors.

  At least, as far as she remembered.

  Uneasiness stirred, enough to make her grateful she hadn’t been able to eat much. She pushed the sensation aside and hurried over to the bed, seizing the distraction of new clothes as she would a life-saving elixir.

  The first garment she picked up was a gown the color of buttercups. It was plain but made of wool so soft she couldn’t resist holding it against her cheek for a moment. Beneath the gown lay a silk bliaut in deepest indigo, embroidered with gold flowers that glimmered in the light from the fire. A cotton shift and a girdle of plaited silks peeked out from under the tunic. There was even a carved ivory comb and a gold mesh crespinette for her hair.

  Where had Hugh found these treasures?

  Hugh. He would be here soon.

  The thought had no sooner occurred when there was an authoritative rap on the door. It opened a second later, and Hugh strode into the room. He was followed by a maidservant carrying a tray laden with food. She dumped the tray on the table, dropped a curtsy and scuttled out.

  Annith didn’t blame the girl. She had thought Hugh intimidating in his warrior’s garb; dressed completely in black but for the bronze and gold braiding on his tunic, and with his sword still buckled at his side, he looked formidable. And it wasn’t just his appearance. Power radiated from him with such force the very air around him seemed to quiver.

  He unfastened his sword belt and propped his sword against the wall. His dagger was tossed onto the table. Then, as she simply continued to stare, speechless, he smiled and opened his arms, and all at once the air in the chamber was still again. Annith rushed forward to be wrapped in his embrace.

  “Have you been fretting all this time?” he asked, misinterpreting her silence. “I hoped you would sleep.”

  “I rested for a while,” she said, looking up at him. She hadn’t wanted to sleep, hadn’t wanted to risk dreaming. Not alone in these unfamiliar surroundings.

  “No matter.” He bent his head to touch his lips to hers. “You’ll sleep later.”

  No doubt, she thought, but why were they discussing the matter? Despite the purpose she sensed in him, he seemed reluctant to bring up the more important issue. She suddenly realized why, and her heart jumped into her throat. She drew back a little, shifting her hands to his chest as though bracing herself.

  “You know who I am,” she whispered.

  “Aye.” He watched her closely as he spoke. “You were at the Priory. Your name is Annetta de Saye.” A fleeting smile touched his mouth. “Annetta de Verney now. From what I gathered, you were happy there. And you were right in remembering Sister Margaret. She’s the Infirmaress. You helped her in her work.”

  Annith gazed up at him, waiting for everything to fall into place. When nothing happened, her hands clenched, seizing fistfuls of Hugh’s tunic. “’Tis as if we’re talking about someone I don’t know,” she said, almost thumping him in sheer frustration. “Annetta.” She hesitated, frowned; repeated it slowly. “Annetta. Aye… I can hear someone calling me that, but from very far away, like a distant echo.”

  “Then let’s keep Annith for now,” he suggested. “I’ve become rather fond of her.” When she smiled briefly, he asked, “You don’t remember anything else?”

  “Nay.” She sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands. Carefully she straightened her fingers, smoothing his tunic where she had gripped it, but when he took a deep breath she looked up sharply.

  “There’s more,” she said, seeing the knowledge in his eyes. “You must tell me.”

  “I know. I know, sweeting.” He gave her a wry smile. “I had almost decided to wait, to let you remember in your own time, but I can’t keep your past from you. ’Twould be to deny your courage, and your strength.”

  “Is it so bad?” she breathed, and had to force herself to voice her worst fear. “Was I already betrothed when we wed this morning?”

  “That I don’t know, but I doubt it. The Prioress told me that you returned to your home because a marriage had been arranged, but, given the time that elapsed, ’tis unlikely any formal betrothal took place.”

  “Why not?” she asked shakily. “We met only three days ago.”

  “Ah, but, sweetheart, with me you were willing. You didn’t run, as you did from whatever match was arranged…” He hesitated, before adding, “By your guardian, Baldwin de Beche.”

  Her throat closed up. Something cold and dark touched the edge of her mind, something so evil it threatened to cut off all reasoned thought, let alone memory. But even as a shudder racked her body, Hugh’s arms tightened.

  “Still nothing?”

  She shook her head. “Sometimes I feel that if I could just push aside the darkness, I would know… But then it goes again.”

  “Leave it for now,” he murmured. “We can do no more today in any case.” He nodded toward the window. “Dusk will be falling in an hour. Let’s take tonight, just for us. To know more of each other, to be together.” He tipped her face up to his, and began kissing her; sweet, fleeting kisses that made the ice-cold darkness recede. “We don’t have to go anywhere. No one will interrupt us.”

  “That sounds so comfortable,” she said. “But you already know as much of me as I do myself.”

  He smiled at that and released her. “Then you can ask the questions,” he said easily, taking her hand and drawing her over to the table. He seated her on the chair and reached over the table to fasten the wooden shutter at the window, closing out the world. A large circular candle holder stood in one corner, and he took one of the tapers and lit it at the brazier, then set the other candles glowing.

  Annith watched him perform the small task, his hands big and powerful agai
nst the slender tapers. With the room lit only by fire and candlelight, she was acutely aware that they were alone, that they were going to share the chamber, and the bed, all night. She was accustomed to never being alone during the day, but at the priory the nuns and girls had slept in their own tiny cells within the dormitory. Modesty, and the privacy necessary for it, had been a rule.

  Now, as she shifted her gaze to the bed, she realized how little she knew, how unprepared she was for even the smallest intimacies of married life.

  She looked back at Hugh as he finished lighting the candles and hunkered down to place more wood in the brazier. His hair, still slightly damp from his bath, caught the light from the fire. There were no dark brown strands anywhere, it was the color of blackest night. The same color had shadowed the lower part of his face earlier, she remembered, but he’d shaved, exposing the chiseled angle of his jaw, and the hard mouth that could curve unexpectedly with humor or tenderness.

  And as she remembered those moments of gentleness, some of her uncertainty eased. He was big and powerful, aye. She had felt the force of his relentless will; had no doubt at all that he could be harsh and ruthless when the situation warranted. But she also knew he would be patient with her ignorance.

  But knowing that, she thought with a twinge of wry humor, did not lessen the nervous anticipation humming through her. When Hugh rose to his feet with easy masculine grace, she leapt from the chair and began moving platters of food around on the table in haphazard disorder.

  “Would you like something to eat, my lord? Heaven knows there is enough here for an army. I don’t know why they would send up so much. And—” She broke off, staring in astonishment at the parchment, quills, and pot of ink on a separate platter. “What in the name of the saints—”

  The rest of the question lodged in her throat when Hugh wrapped his arms around her from behind. “You are not here to wait on me,” he said, his warm breath tickling her ear. “I have to write a letter before morning. And I think ’tis time you called me Hugh, instead of ‘my lord’.”

  “Oh. Aye. As you wish, my… I mean…Hugh.” The last word was whispered as she savored the sweet intimacy of saying his name aloud for the first time. “Hugh,” she repeated softly, and turned her head to smile at him over her shoulder.

  Before she could take another breath, he had scooped her off her feet, whirled her around, and sat down on the chair with her on his lap. “That’s better,” he said with satisfaction.

  Annith clung to him while the room spun about her head. When it settled, she blinked at him. Even perched on his lap she had to look up to meet his amused gaze. “How are we going to eat like this?” she squeaked, intensely conscious of his size, and the hard muscles beneath her thighs.

  “Easy.” He reached out with his free arm, cut a small piece of meat from the large chunk on the trencher and held it to her lips. “’Tis straight off the spit so I was told. Warm and tender. You’ll like it.”

  She accepted the morsel, her eyes widening as the tips of his fingers touched her lips for an instant. Fortunately the mouthful was small enough to swallow whole, because she still wasn’t hungry.

  “Here,” he murmured, seizing one of the beakers on the tray and inspecting its contents. “’Tis some sort of potage, I think. ’Twill go down easier, sweetheart.”

  “Thank you,” she said gratefully, holding the beaker between her hands. She took a sip and found he was right. The warm broth was rich with flavor and eased the tightness in her throat.

  For a minute or two they ate in a silence that was strangely companionable. She even relaxed a little while she sipped her broth, watching in some bemusement as Hugh made inroads into a dish of venison, onions and parsnips, before mopping up the sauce with a chunk of bread. Eating one-handed, with his other arm around her, didn’t seem to bother him at all.

  “Is it fear of me?” he asked after a few moments. “That takes away your appetite?”

  “Oh, nay,” she said quickly. “Truly. ’Tis only the past few days…” She made a small gesture. “Not knowing who I am. And even now that I do, it hasn’t helped.”

  “Your memory will return,” he said with such confidence she had to believe him. “But, remember, tonight is ours. Shall I tell you about my manor? ’Twill be your home from now on.”

  She seized the diversion eagerly, barely noticing when Hugh took the empty beaker from her and fed her a slice of pear. “I would like to hear about your home, my lord. Last night…” She hesitated, a little uncertain. “Last night, you said your father died recently. What of your mother? Does she live there still?”

  “My mother died when I was a child of seven.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Your father must have been glad of you then.”

  “Mayhap, had he not become bitter over the years, but he sent me off to the royal household to learn knightly skills. It wasn’t a tragedy,” he said, smiling at the look on her face and popping another slice of pear into her mouth. “I enjoyed being with other boys my age, and the King and Queen treated us as if we were their own.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed the pear. “Was that good or bad?”

  He laughed at that, and reached out to pour some wine into a goblet. He held it to her lips and she took a few sips. “’Twas good,” he said, putting the cup to his own mouth and drinking. “But I don’t wonder at your surprise, given the notorious Plantagenet temper. And Edward has it in full measure, I promise you, although the King is of a milder nature. They’re a close family for the most part.”

  “Is that why your father was bitter after your mother died? Because he loved her?”

  “Nay, if anything he resented her. He’d been a younger son,” he explained. “And wanted to enter the Benedictine order. But when his older brother was killed at a tournament, my grandfather told him to forget the monastic life. He had to marry for the sake of our lands and the future.”

  “That was hardly your mother’s fault.”

  He smiled and placed the empty wine cup on the table. “I don’t think he blamed her, or me for that matter. He wasn’t unkind, just distant and disinterested. After I was born there were no more children. Having got a son to carry on the family name, he spent all his time with his books and religious studies.”

  “That seems so cold,” she murmured, and searched his face in silent query.

  “Nay,” he said, and his hazel eyes glittered with an intensity that set her pulse racing. “That will never happen with us, my lovely girl. There is nothing on this earth that will keep me from your bed, no matter how many sons we have.”

  She drew in a breath at the utter certainty in his voice. Her gaze shifted to the bed, then back to him. “Does that have something to do with what happens between husband and wife?” she asked shyly.

  “It does indeed,” he said, his voice husky with a note she hadn’t heard before. He cradled her face with his free hand and bent his head until his mouth was a breath away from hers. “Would you like me to show you, little wife?”

  She nodded, and as his lips touched hers, sighed and nestled into his embrace. She knew his kisses, knew and wanted them.

  “You have the sweetest mouth,” he murmured, touching the seam of her lips with his tongue. “So soft and sweet. Let me inside, darling.”

  Her lips parted, and he took her mouth in a kiss of such tender possession, she felt as if she was sinking beneath a wave of the most exquisite pleasure. Wanting more, she began to return the pressure of his mouth, to touch her tongue to his, to submerge herself in the kiss until she was aware of nothing else. When he lifted his head to press his lips to the tender spot below her ear, she made a tiny sound of protest.

  “I know, sweetheart, but just kissing you is enough to take me too close to the edge. And there is so much more I want to show you.” He kissed her throat, nudging aside the neck of her gown, and her protest became a hum of pleasure. She tried to move closer, needing to feel his body pressed to hers as she’d done when he had kissed her in Martin’s shop, but t
he confines of the chair defeated her.

  “Sssh,” he soothed as she shifted restlessly. She felt the surge of power in him as he rose with her in his arms and shivered with nerves and excitement. He carried her to the bed and set her gently on her feet beside it. “’Twill be better without our clothes in the way,” he said, beginning to unfasten her girdle. He tossed it aside, and gathered the folds of her gown to lift it over her head.

  Annith hesitated, then raised her arms to aid him. She had to trust him, she told herself as her gown went the way of her girdle, but she couldn’t suppress the blush that rose to her face when he traced the low neckline of her shift with one finger. Heat bloomed where he touched; the tips of her breasts tingled. She felt a sudden need for him to slip his finger beneath her shift and touch her there, and her eyes blinked wide at the thought.

  His eyes were narrowed, focused intently on her face as if he knew exactly what was going through her mind. He reached out and gently cupped her breasts in his hands, but even as she gasped at the thrill that arrowed through her, he released her and whipped his tunic over his head. His undershirt followed. He tossed the garments aside and reached for her.

  Annith’s lips parted as she looked up at him. He was beautiful, a magnificent male in the prime of his life, the strength she had felt now visible in the sleek muscles of his arms and shoulders. A triangle of dark hair covered his broad chest, arrowing down past the hard bands of muscle across his stomach to disappear beneath his chausses.

  Fascinated by the size and power of him, she touched him with questing fingertips. “You’re so warm, so strong,” she breathed.

  He made a low sound in his throat and his fingers flexed around her waist. “Aye, touch me, darling. I’ve been tormenting myself for days, wondering how your hands would feel on me.”

  “You have?” She moved closer, drawn irresistibly by the lure of his intense masculinity. Her arms went around him and she flattened her hands against his back, savoring the power there. He was so hard, she thought in wonder. So different to her own softer, smaller frame. The contrast between them enthralled her, she could have stood there forever, letting his warmth flow over her while her body began to soften, to ache with an unfamiliar need for something—more.