“It is more likely that you will drop me.”
“Nonsense. You are very light.”
“Oh, dear saints,” she groaned, letting her head fall back in exasperation. “Well, at least go down the back stairs to the entrance there. I don't want the whole court to see this.”
As he carried her out, she turned her head and looked desperately back at Joan.
Send Idonia, she mouthed again.
He set her down at the back entrance that led to a small courtyard beneath Isabele's windows.
“There are some benches here and the sun is warm against that wall,” she suggested. “Let us sit here.”
“I think that we would prefer to take a ride.”
Idonia would never find them and rescue her then. “I would prefer to sit here.”
“Soon the shadows will move over that wall, and then you will get chilled. A ride in the sun will be better.”
Walking beside him around the corner of the manor, she wondered if all men got so willful after one got betrothed to them. Would Stephen stop speaking pretty words when they were married? Was that just something done beforehand to lure women? The chansons weren't much help with this question. The couples in those romantic songs were never married. She immediately felt guilty for equating Stephen with this merchant. Stephen was a chivalrous knight, and poetry and romance flowed in his blood.
David took the reins of his horse from the young groom who had been holding them.
“I will send for a mount from the stables,” she said.
“You will ride with me. One of the problems with being dizzy is that you cannot ride a horse unattended for a while.” He lifted her up to the front of the saddle and swung up behind her.
She had never sat on a horse with a man before. The perch up front was a little precarious, especially if one leaned forward as she strained to do. This promised to be backbreaking and her mood did not improve.
They rode out the castle gate and turned upriver. The road grew deserted once they moved away from the castle and town. A few carts straggled past, and in the river an occasional barge drifted by. They were less than two miles from London's wall, but suddenly a world away.
They rode in silence for about a quarter of a mile. Christiana focused her attention on avoiding any contact with the man a hair's breadth behind her. Her back ached from the effort.
Suddenly and without warning, David pushed the horse to a faster walk. That did it. The gait threw her backward against his chest and shoulders. His arm slid around her waist. She tensed in surprise as that peculiar intensity flowed and embraced her more surely than his arm.
She noticed the solidity of his support and became acutely aware of his arm resting lightly across her waist. She looked down at the beautiful masculine hand gently holding her, and felt the soft pressure of his fingers as he steadied her. There was something tantalizing about his warmth along her back.
The oddest tremor swept through her. She tensed again.
“Are you afraid of me, Christiana?” he asked.
His face was very close to her head, and his voice barely louder than a whisper. His breath drifted over her temple, carrying his words. The warm sound mixed with the warm air and caressed her as surely as if fingers had touched her. Despite that warmth, a chill trembled down her neck and back. A very peculiar chill.
“Of course not.”
“You act as if you are.”
He had noticed the tremors, she thought, a little horrified but not sure why.
“I am a bit cold is all.”
In response he drew the edges of his own cloak around her.
He seemed closer now. She could feel the muscles of his chest all along her back. His breath grazed her hair, making her scalp tingle. He was virtually a stranger, and the subtle intimacy of being cocooned inside his cloak with him did make her a little fearful now, but of what she couldn't say. She squirmed to let him know that she wanted him to let go.
He did not release her. Instead he bent his body over hers. Soft hair brushed against her cheek before he turned his head to kiss her neck.
The heat of his lips against her skin produced an incredible shock. He kissed her again, increasing the pressure, and the warmth of that mouth penetrated her skin, flowed down her neck and arms, and streaked through her chest and belly. The pure physicality of the sensation stunned her.
His arm pulled her tighter. His lips moved up her neck. Quivering, delicious tremors coursed through her. He nipped lightly along the edge of her ear. A hollow tension exploded, shaking her, and she gasped.
The sound woke her from the sensual daze. She turned her head away from his mouth. “Now I am afraid of you,” she said.
“That was not fear.”
She pushed against his arm. “I want to get down. This familiarity is wrong.”
“We are betrothed.”
“Not really.”
“Very really.”
“Not in my mind, and you know it. I want to get down. Now. I want to walk for a while.”
He stopped the horse and swung off. She braced herself for his anger as she turned to be lifted down, but he only smiled and fell into step beside her.
Even walking apart from him, she could still feel the pull of that unsettling intimacy. This man had made her feel uncomfortable and vulnerable from the first time she had seen him, and it wasn't getting any better.
She felt an urgent need to banish the last few minutes from their memories, and took refuge in conversation to do so.
“Lady Idonia told me that the Abyndons are an aldermanic family in London.”
“My uncle Stephen was an alderman about ten years ago, at the time that he died. I have an uncle Gilbert who would like to be.”
“He did not come Saturday.”
“We are estranged.”
“And your parents did not come. Are they dead or are you estranged from them too?”
He didn't answer right away. “They did not tell you much about me, did they? My mother is dead. I do not know my father. Abyndon is my mother's name.”
He was a bastard. Of all of the topics to choose for conversation, this had probably been the worst.
“Your brother knows of this,” he added.
“It is a common thing. He would not find it worth while to comment upon it to me.” That was a courteous lie, of course. It wasn't that common.
“Is there anything else you want to know about me?”
She thought a moment. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“And you were an apprentice until twenty-five?”
“Actually, twenty-four.”
“So how did you get so rich so fast?”
He laughed a little. A nice laugh. Quiet. “It is a long story.”
“Not too long, if you are only twenty-nine.”
He laughed again. “My master, David Constantyn, bought his goods from traders who came to England. Italians mostly, from Genoa and Venice. When I was about Andrew's age, twenty, I convinced him to send me to Flanders to purchase some wool directly. The prices at which we sell are regulated, so the only way to make more profit is to buy more cheaply.”
“Your trip was successful?”
“Very much so. We did that for a year. Then, one day he came to me and agreed on another idea I had proposed. He gave me a large amount of money to try my luck elsewhere. I was gone for three years, and visited many of the ports around the Inland Sea. I sent back goods, became friends with men who became our agents, and established a trading network. We had a large advantage after that.”
He told his tale as if men did this all of the time, but of course they did not and even a girl like her knew it. “You were still his apprentice then?”
“In the eyes of law. But he had been more like a father to me for years. As soon as I received the city's freedom and citizenship, he made me his partner. He was a widower and had no children, and left me his property upon his death. His wealth went to charity and for prayers for h
is soul.”
She hadn't thought of a merchant as an adventurer. In her world only a knight errant or crusader might wander thus. “Where are some of the places that you traveled to?”
“I went by ship down the coast of the Aquitane and Castile and into the Inland Sea through the Pillars of Hercules. Then along the coast of the Dark Continent first.”
“Saracen lands!”
“One must trade with Saracens to get anything from the East.”
“It must have been dangerous.”
“Only once. In Egypt. I stayed too long there. The ports welcome traders and depend on them. No one wants to discourage commerce by killing merchants. After Egypt, I went up to Tripoli and Constantinople, then sailed to Genoa. I came back through France.”
She pictured the maps of the Inland Sea that she had seen. She imagined him riding through deserts and passing over the Alps. She glanced at the daggers he wore. One was a decorative eating tool, but the other was large and lethal looking.
“It still sounds dangerous. And very risky.” Actually it sounded wonderfully exciting and adventurous.
“The risk was real enough, but mostly financial. David Constantyn was probably a bit of a fool to agree to it. Only as I see Andrew approaching the same age do I see the faith that he had.”
“Will you have Andrew do as you did?”
“Nay. But I will send him to Genoa soon, where the agents send their goods for shipment here. I need a man there, I think, so that I do not have to travel down every other year.”
There were many Florentine bankers and Italian traders in London, and tales of that sunny land had filtered through the court over the years. She felt a little envious of Andrew. The idea of spending her years embroidering in one of Stephen's drafty castles suddenly seemed very dull.
“I came to speak with you about something, Christiana,” he said. “I was at Westminster to discuss the wedding. The spring and early summer are out of the question. There will be times when I will be out of London unexpectedly.”
Spring and summer were the times when many trading fairs were held. Presumably he would need to attend some.
“Next fall, then,” she offered. “October or November.”
“I think not. Before Lent. The end of February.”
“Five weeks hence! That is too soon!”
“How so?”
She glared at him. They had been having such a nice talk, too. He knew “how so.” She marched on a little quicker, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.
He kept up by simply lengthening his stride. Finally his quiet voice flowed around her. “I said that I would step aside if this man comes, but you cannot expect me to arrange my life for his convenience. If he wants you, he will be here very soon.”
She turned on him. “You are conceited and arrogant and I hate you. You are deliberately doing this to make things difficult for me.”
“Nay. I only seek to avoid difficulties for myself that might complicate my business affairs. Five weeks is enough time for a man to decide that he wants a woman. I made my decision in a matter of days. A man in love should be even quicker.”
He didn't think that Stephen would come, and now he had created a test for him. How dare he claim to know the heart of a chivalrous knight! How dare he compare himself to him! Stephen was as different from this mercer as a destrier from a palfrey. The same animal, but different breeds with different duties.
“Five weeks, my lady,” he repeated firmly. He glanced up at the sun. “Now we must ride back. I have a meeting this afternoon.”
He brought up the horse and lifted her up. She kept her back very straight all of the way home to Westminster.
In the back courtyard they found Lady Idonia sitting by the wall. She rose at once and came toward them.
David dismounted and brought Christiana down. He turned to the guardian. “You decided to take some air, too, my lady? The day is fair, is it not?”
Lady Idonia did her best. “You should not have taken Christiana out with her illness. Her dizziness was most severe.”
David slung an arm around Christiana's shoulders. It was a casual gesture, but it very effectively kept her from bolting. “Your solicitous concern for my betrothed moves me, my lady. But I have something to say to Christiana in private. Perhaps you would wait inside the entrance for her.”
Idonia flustered in response to this blunt dismissal, glanced sharply at Christiana, and stomped off.
David dropped his arm and turned to her. “I will visit you next week.”
Stephen would come soon, but not that soon. She really did not want to spend more time with David. It felt like a betrayal of her love. “That is not necessary,” she said.
“It may not be necessary, but for your sake it is prudent. You expect your lover to come, but what if he does not?”
“He will come.”
“And if not?”
His insistence irritated her. “What of it?”
“Then in five weeks you wed me, my girl. Just in case, shouldn't we spend this time getting to know one another? It is what betrothals are for.”
But I am not really betrothed, she thought, eyeing him obstinately. Not in my heart or mind.
“Christiana, if you do not want to meet again until the wedding, that is how it will be. Yet think about it, girl. Going to bed with a stranger will not bother me at all, but you may find the experience distressing.”
Her mouth fell open in shock at this blunt reminder of the marriage bed. Memories of herself with Stephen flew rapidly through her mind. He had not been a stranger, and she quickly relived the shock of his ferocious passion, the crushing insistence of his kisses, the almost horrible intimacy of his hand on her nakedness.
She stared up at David de Abyndon, noting the frank and open way that he watched her. It was cruel of him to make her think about this and face the possible conclusion of this betrothal. All the same, her mind involuntarily began to substitute him for Stephen in those memories. She was appalled that it had no trouble doing so and that the strange feelings that he summoned tried to attach themselves to the ghostlike fantasy. She shook those thoughts away. The whole notion was indeed distressing. And very frightening.
Five weeks.
“Am I supposed to wait upstairs for you to come and ‘bid me to attend’?” she asked sarcastically.
“Let us say that I will come on Mondays. If I cannot, I will send word. If you are ill again, send a message to me.”
She nodded and turned toward the door. She wanted to be done with this man today. She wanted to cleanse her mind of what it had just imagined.
He caught her arm and pulled her back. With gentle but firm movements he clasped her in an embrace.
A surging desperation claimed her. She remembered the betrothal ceremony and she knew, she just knew, that it was vital, essential, that he not kiss her again. She struggled against his arms and almost cried out for Idonia. As his head bent to hers, she twisted to avoid him.
His lips found hers anyway and connected with a grazing brush that wasn't even a kiss. She felt that same, warm soothing lightness again and again on her cheek and brow and neck. In spite of her love for Stephen, in spite of her anger at this man's intrusion into her life, she calmed beneath the repeated caress of his mouth as ripples of sensation flowed through her. Her awareness dulled to everything but those compelling feelings.
When he finally stopped, she wasn't struggling anymore. A little dazed, she looked up at him. The perfect planes of his face appeared tighter than usual, and he looked in her eyes with a commanding gaze that seemed to speak a language that she didn't understand. She knew that he was going to kiss her and that she should get away, but when he lowered his mouth to hers, she couldn't resist at all.
It was a beautiful kiss, full of warmth and promise. It deepened slowly and he held her head in one hand, the other arm lifting her into it. The waves of sensation flowed higher and stronger, carrying her toward a delicious oblivion.
He released the p
ressure on her mouth and took one lip, then the other, gently between his teeth. A sharper warmth shot down the center of her body. It was a stunning quiver of pleasurable discomfort that seemed to reach completely through her. Less gently, he kissed each pulse point on her neck, and it happened again and again, each time stronger, the compelling discomfort growing.
He lifted his head and looked down at her, his mouth set in a hard line with the lips slightly parted. He looked gloriously handsome like that.
“You make me forget myself,” he said, his fingers stretching through her hair.
Their surroundings slowly intruded. Her position, arching acceptingly into his embrace, suddenly became apparent, too.
Horrified, she abruptly disentangled herself. He let her go. With a very red face she hurried to the door.
Lady Idonia waited there. She looked up sharply. “ ‘Send Idonia to save me,’ ” she mimicked. “I sat out there almost an hour, worried for you, although why I don't know, since you are marrying the man. Then you return and what do I see? Keep that up, girl, and there will be no need for a wedding at all.”
Christiana blushed deeper. A profound sense of guilt swept through her. She loved Stephen. How could she be so faithless? How could she let this man kiss her like that? Even if he forced her to it, how could she let those feelings undo her so outrageously?
She followed Idonia up the stairs, more confused and frightened than she had been on her betrothal day. This was wrong. She must never let it happen again. She must be sure that she was never again alone with this merchant.
At the second-level landing, she paused and looked out the small window to the courtyard below. David was just mounting his horse to leave. As he began riding away, a movement at the end of the courtyard caught her attention. A man stepped away from the building and toward David's approaching horse.
David stopped and spoke with the man for a moment, then made to move on. But the man followed alongside, speaking and gesturing. Finally David dismounted. He tied his reins to a post and disappeared behind the building, following the man.
Christiana frowned. They had been some distance away, but she felt sure that she recognized the man. He was the French-speaking diplomat who had passed her alcove in the King's passageway the morning after she had met David.
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