The Yearning Heart

by Zelma Orr

Her maidservant had said that Stephen loved her, but how could Malvina know this when his own wife knew it not? When Stephen never spoke words of love even as he took her body and made it his? Even as he buried himself inside her, love was never one of the words he whispered to her. Only desire, only the satisfaction from the release of his aroused body. Never had he said he loved her. Never.

  “Did Sir Stephen tell you he loved me, Malvina?”

  “Nay, some things do not need to be told.”

  “I need to be told else my heart does not believe.”

  Rebecca turned back to the window. The sun was hidden behind a cloud, casting a gloom over the room, dulling the lively colors.

  “Mayhap you can explain why Stephen holds you in his arms and cries but will not hold me when the baby does not live. When he forbids me to ride Tor or to do many things I enjoy because he trusts me no longer. He does not make love to me for fear I will be with child, a child he does not desire from my body. Yea, many things need explaining, Malvina, that Stephen cares not to speak of.”

  Even her body did Stephen's bidding, refusing to hold his seed after their wild mating. It was just as well. Were she to become pregnant, she could not run away as easily.

  Malvina walked closer to Rebecca.

  “When sayst Stephen cried in my arms? A long time hence?”

  “Just after the baby came. We quarreled, and I went to his room to tell him I was sorry for my part. The room that is always locked was open, and inside, Stephen sat on the bed, his arms around you, and he cried. Never has he cried for my sorrow nor for his son. Only in your arms does he shed tears”

  “He cried for thee, my lady.”

  Rebecca whirled, her tear-bright eyes disbelieving, arms crossed tightly across her heaving bosom.

  “Over me? He cried for me? Could he not have told me his sorrow?”

  “Yea, for thee. He cried over the child and over thee because you were not to be consoled. Sir Stephen has been without woman since Mary, his wife, died, and he knows not the gentleness a woman wishes. But he is a good man, a fair man to his workers and to his servants, and he dost not beat thee.”

  “Thou art right, Malvina. He still loves Mary, so sayeth the queen when I visited lo, these Christmases ago. I thought mayhap he could come to love me but ‘tis too late. He is in love with you, Malvina.”

  Malvina's mouth opened, closed, and she made a sound as though strangling. Then her head went back, and she burst with laughter. She clapped her hands and bowed from the waist. When she straightened, there were tears in her eyes.

  “Where doest learn of this, Lady Rebecca?” She shook her head and laughed again. “Sir Stephen is one whom I do love, but he was my sister's husband, and he dost not love me as a lover, but only as Mary's sister.”

  “Thou art Mary's sister?”

  “Yea, my lady.”

  Rebecca's throat closed, and she choked over the sudden realization that she had been wrong about so many things. Was she also wrong about Stephen's love for Malvina?

  Stephen and Malvina. He did love Malvina, but only as family.

  “Why was I not told this? Why did Stephen not tell me you were his beloved's sister?”

  “ ‘Tis thought he did not want thee to be reminded of Mary every day, my lady. Sir Stephen is kind and thoughtful, albeit he does not explain his actions to his own wife.”

  The two women stared at each other until Malvina stepped forward and put her arms around Rebecca's stiff shoulders. She murmured soft words in Irish dialect, then pulled back to look at the stunned expression of her mistress.

  “ ‘Tis all true, my lady. Sir Stephen loves thee though he does not speak the words thou wouldst hear. Mayhap he needs lessons in such.”

  “I wouldst needs believe thee, Malvina, but...”

  “Thou dost love Sir Stephen, true?”

  Would Malvina run to Stephen and tell such if she spoke words he had not heard from her? Rebecca sighed. Just now, she cared not what gossip Malvina took to Stephen. Perchance it was time to say what was in her heart.

  “Aye. ‘Tis true, Malvina.”

  * * * *

  Hugo recognized Sir Stephen Lambert as the man stepped across water puddles to make his way to the main tent of the minstrel group. He felt Margaret at his side and took her cold hand in his.

  “Sir Stephen,” Hugo said as King Henry's nobleman paused in front of him.

  Stephen stopped, and then bowed from the waist.

  “I would ask after the king.”

  “He is well, sire. Come this way.”

  Hugo slid his arm around Margaret and stepped aside for Stephen to enter the tent.

  “He is there.” Hugo pointed a big hand to a flap hanging from the center of the tent.

  Stephen nodded. “I thank thee.”

  He stepped to the entrance of the makeshift room.

  “ ‘Tis Sir Stephen, your highness.”

  “Enter.” The voice boomed from within.

  Stephen pulled the flap back and entered the room as King Henry came forward, his arms out to embrace his officer.

  “Ah, Stephen. ‘Tis good to see thee. Hugo and his company have treated me well, but for truth, I wish to return home.” He patted Stephen's arms.

  “I am afraid I bring more sad tidings, your highness. Mayhap thou would sit down whilst I tell the story.”

  Dismay showed on the king's countenance.

  “More bad news? By God's eye, Stephen, canst find no good tidings to bring? Is not paying penance for the archbishop's murder enough for an old man? Must thou bring painful additions?”

  “I am sorry, my king, but ‘tis necessary to tell thee ere the story gets to thine enemies. It is something that must be said, and I am sorry to be the one to bring sadness to you.”

  Stephen spoke quietly and quickly, his heart heavy as the king's face mirrored concern, anger and, finally, acceptance.

  “The young king is another of Sir Thomas’ failures, Stephen. He taught him well the indulgences of the flesh, methinks.”

  Stephen refrained from saying that young Henry did not have much in the way of parental guidance, nothing from his parents to show how a loving family should be. He was taught by Sir Thomas when he should have been learning affection at home.

  They sat in silence, the king's thoughts far away, as were Stephen's. The king thought of the Plantagenet, his responsibilities, his failures, his triumphs, his queen and their children, his consort.

  Stephen thought of Rebecca. What was he to do with such a woman-child? She was a woman when he loved her, a child in looks and sometimes in ways. But when faced with certain death at the hands of highwaymen, she'd turned into a fighter and had never given up.

  If she would just not give up on him.

  I must show her that her life is with me. Her love is mine, and she must not run away. We will talk, and I will tell her I love her. He finally realized it was so. And he must tell Rebecca. He loved the small waif who could be a hot-blooded temptress or a snarling tiger. He must hurry to New Sarum and tell her just these things. It would be difficult to wait for that time.

  * * * *

  Calm settled once more over London and everyone seemed content that King Henry would be made to serve long and hard to avenge the archbishop's murder. There was no reason why the king could not live once more in his royal suite. Stephen had the king's word that he would deal with young Henry and proper treatment would be ordered.

  Stephen convinced the king that Hugo and his troupe deserved a fair reward for protecting him until he could be returned to the royal palace to await his penance. The king agreed and had settled money and provisions on Hugo's minstrels, wishing them Godspeed on the way to their next performance.

  Stephen left London on a raw February day, bound for New Sarum where Rebecca awaited him. She was to have been watched, not really a prisoner, but not allowed freedom outside New Sarum's courtyard. She thought New Sarum cold she had told him, but since her arrival there, Stephen thought it warm and real.
Mayhap she had been right at one time. It held no warmth. True, until Rebecca's appearance. Then, everything changed.

  The walls seemed lighter, candles glowed more brightly, laughter seemed to ring the halls more than before. Servants performed their tasks cheerfully. Good changes, and Stephen believed Rebecca's presence had been the cause.

  If he could only make her happy.

  Even though snow lay in dirty lumps along the road and the walls surrounding the house, even though activities were contained inside the big rooms and horses were not ridden except for gathering supplies, New Sarum seemed occupied by friendlier people, by servants who sang about their work and who smiled behind wimples or soft hats pulled low about the face for protection from cutting winds.

  New Sarum was a different place when Lady Rebecca resided there.

  He would have to make sure Rebecca was happy even if she preferred the old home place to New Sarum. It made him blink to realize that he wanted Rebecca to be happy no matter the cost, no matter where she chose to live.

  That's what love does to a man. Stephen's mouth curved in a tiny smile. He loved Rebecca. Yea, that hot-tempered, tiny elf who could make his heart thunder and his blood boil. Who could arouse his body with one kiss and satisfy his desires with a night of wild passion. He trembled with wanting her.

  “Ho, Aubin,” Stephen called. “I will alight here. See to bringing the small case up the steps.”

  He stepped down, waved to the servants he could see, then walked alongside the railing, across the stone porch. The door opened ere he could reach for it, and he stepped into a warm, fragrant hall. He took a deep breath. Cooks had been busy with baking, and he was hungry. But not hungry enough to put off seeing Rebecca.

  Malvina came through a doorway and curtsied.

  “My lord, welcome home.”

  “I thank thee. Rebecca?”

  He was sore afraid to ask, and he waited with held breath.

  “The Lady Rebecca's wounds have healed, my lord. She is asleep.”

  “Art certain she sleeps?”

  “Yea, my lord.”

  He took off the heavy hat and wiped his face with his sleeve. He was tired and hungry. And anxious to see, and hold, Rebecca.

  “I will eat ere I see her.”

  Malvina's eyes searched her master's face. If ‘twas her doing, she would send him up the stairs to Lady Rebecca to tell her of his love. She sighed. It was not her place to say such things, but she was sure her mistress would agree.

  Stephen ate quickly, taking big bites of hot bread filled with butter and honey, and his empty stomach quieted. He took tea instead of spirits but did not admit it was because Rebecca did not care for kisses laced with wine. And Rebecca was to have kisses, whether she wanted them or not.

  He stirred with the beginnings of heat in his loins.

  Appetite appeased, Stephen made his way up the stairs and into the orchid room where Rebecca slept.

  Rebecca did not move as Stephen sat beside her on the bed. She lay on her back, hands straight by her side, her face turned away from him. He sat a long time, watching the soft rise and fall of her breasts, the pulse in her throat. Her hair was unbraided, spread across the pillow, strands lying like silken threads over the linen sheets that were pulled to her shoulders. He could not see if she still had bruises and scratches.

  She was pale, and he wondered at her weight loss. She was a small woman, but she seemed to be lighter than ever. She had not spoken of all the happenings at the stone city where the young king held her for ransom. Instead, she had turned bitter coldness towards him and would not accept any offer of kindness or concern from Stephen.

  For truth, he expected her to be gone when he returned to New Sarum. Even with loyal servants watching her, Stephen knew now the cunning mind of his wife and that she would find a way to get out of New Sarum if she so chose.

  Why are you still here, my love? he wondered. Art unwell and mayhap hiding that from Malvina, saying thou dost not want to go? He shivered at the thought she might be hurt and would not let her maidservant know because she did not trust Malvina.

  “Rebecca?”

  He leaned over her, his breath stirring a wisp of hair on her cheek.

  Rebecca's eyes flew wide. All sleep vanished as she stared at her husband bending over her. One hand came up to touch his cheek.

  “Thou art home,” she said simply.

  “Aye.”

  “For how long this time, Stephen?”

  “My plans are for a long time, Rebecca, but thou knowest when King Henry calls, I will go.” He stood. “I need help to remove this chainse. Wouldst unhook it for me?”

  Rebecca sat up and slid from the bed. She was clad in pale ivory satin and lace, the gown gathered tightly at her small waist, floating to the floor in thick folds. Stephen caught his breath at her loveliness, but stood so that she could manage the heavy hooks, then helped him remove the chainse.

  He sat on the bed then, undoing his silk shirt. When he sat bare-chested in front of her, he held out his arms.

  “I am tired to the bones, Rebecca, and need thy tender massage. Too, a kiss would be a nice welcome home.”

  Rebecca stepped backwards, hands behind her, chin lifted.

  “Tell me,” she demanded.

  “I have told all thy need know,” Stephen said. “Now do as I command thee.”

  “Command me, my lord? Nay. Answer me ere you command me to do thy bidding.”

  “And what woulds't have me say, Rebecca?”

  “Tell me. Tell me thy thoughts, thy plans for me, thy feelings for me and if I may know some of these to ease my mind.”

  Stephen's temper flared. He was tired. He wanted Rebecca with a sudden savage hunger that wished not to be denied. Truth, he did not intend her to deny him.

  Enough is enough, he thought savagely. He moved quickly, his hands hard on her arms, his anger uncontained.

  “You should have red hair, you stubborn, lovely child,” he raged, his mouth close to hers.

  “I am not a child. I am a woman, and I am your wife. I desire to be treated as such, to have you speak true words to me if I am to remain here.”

  Entranced in spite of himself, Stephen looked into her bewitching eyes. They flashed bright blue fire and something else. An emotion he had seen but taken no notice of before now. Her pink lips parted.

  “Knowest what thou asketh of me, Rebecca?”

  Defiant, she remained stiff in his arms.

  “Aye, Stephen.”

  “Then thou must accept my answer as the truth.” His hands grew tender, rubbing the firm flesh of her arms. “I love thee, Rebecca.”

  Rebecca brought her arms up ready to strike, hurt anger filling the empty void where Stephen's love should be. At his last words, she went still, eyes searching his face, finding tender beseeching there, seeing for the first time the tired lines around his mouth, the worry in deep-set blue eyes.

  “What say, Stephen?” Her voice quavered with hope.

  “I love thee, Rebecca.”

  “For how long?” She hardly dared breathe.

  “Forever, Rebecca. Mayhap since the day I first saw you with wet, muddy feet, dirt on your face and blood from the fresh killed animal on your hands. Since the first time I tasted of your warm beauty and your untouched body. The night our son was conceived and through sorrow when he was lost. All the endless days when you were away from me, I loved thee. When you fought the highwayman, thought your way out of the dangers from his rogues and fell into my arms. I have loved thee always, my darling.”

  They stared at each other, and suddenly, Rebecca flung her arms around him, knocking him off balance, and they fell across the bed. They laughed together as he held her tightly to him.

  “Oh, Stephen, thou sayest wonderful things.”

  “And thee, Rebecca. Dost love me?”

  “Ah, my love, surely thou knowest that I could not have been so opposing of thy rules had I not loved thee greatly. ‘Twas only to get your attention.”

>   “Thou art a great success, my darling wife,” he said.

  He kissed her and groaned as Rebecca's warm response brought instant arousal. He cradled her head on his shoulder where he could whisper the tender words she wanted to hear.

  “Might we engage in doing wonderful things together, my love?”

  Her yearning heart opened, taking Stephen's freely given love, letting her lasting affection flow warmly between them. Trust and love bound them together, finally, as was meant to be.

  “Oh, now and always. I love you. Forever, Stephen.”

  * * * *

  The End

  * * *

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