by Janet Lane
“Good morning, Lady Emilyne.”
She straightened to her full height, which brought her almost to eye level with him. “And to you, Lord Tabor.”
“I would speak with you.”
She bowed formally. “As you wish.”
He offered his arm and led her toward the stream, away from the wagons and the clanging racket in the blacksmith shed. “You look lovely this morn.”
“Thank you.”
“’Tis my wish that you stay.”
“My father talked with you. You know my wishes.”
“Emilyne. You’re young. Lovely, and the daughter of an earl.”
“You should not forget that, Lord Tabor. Nor the considerable sum your mother insisted upon for my dowry.”
“I appreciate your station, Emilyne.”
Her green eyes narrowed. “Damn your fawning concern. You’d better grasp my station—and yours. Get rid of her and I will stay.”
“Father Bernard has insisted Sharai stay. She’s a Christian, you know.”
Emilyne’s upper lip contorted. “Gypsies? Father told me about what they did in France. They worship the devil. Commit sins with animals.”
“Not Sharai.”
“You would deny me? Offer a dark-skinned heathen your loyalty over me? And you wonder why I leave this morn.” She freed her arm and spun away from him.
“Surely you’re not worried about a poor seamstress and a seven-year-old girl. I brought them here as a kindness to my mother, and you’ve seen her skill with a needle.”
“Fah! ’Tis her other skills that displease me.”
“We’ve developed a friendship—”
“She is a whore, Tabor. A whore, same as Maud—”
“She is no whore—”
“—and you toss sheep’s eyes at her. In front of my parents. In front of me.” She cast her eyes down. “I’m not beautiful like her, Tabor, I know that.”
Her humility made him pause. Tabor knew well the pain of being passed over. He took her hand in his, but felt naught but her smooth, warm skin. “If I so provoke you, why do you want me as your husband?”
She reclaimed her hand, twisted the gold pin at her cloak, and looked slightly past him. “I am twenty years old and must wed soon. I am healthy and capable. I can manage affairs when you’re called to battle. I favor my father in his—height,” she hesitated. “I told him that I will not look down on my husband. You are tall enough, pleasing to the eye and healthy, and from a good family.”
’Tis hardly enough, Tabor thought. Her father doubtless saw political advantage in controlling Coin Forest, as well as Tabor’s vote in Parliament. Still, an odd sensation passed through him, and he felt an urge to sit down. “You want me because I’m tall?”
Her delicate eyebrows tightened into a frown. “Be not daft, Tabor. Were you not pleased when you heard of our offer?”
Aye, Tabor thought. If he had been so enticed by money, how could he judge Emilyne for wanting a tall husband? “Yes, but—”
“If we are to wed, I will not tolerate her presence.”
He thought of the twelve-year-old girl who risked her life to save him, who claimed and cared for a baby Kadriya, and worked hard to repay Etti for helping her in her time of need. “Sharai is an honorable woman. I will not have you slurring her name.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So you have already decided.”
Tabor stopped. The discussion had veered in a dangerous direction. “Nay. ’Tis not about you or her. I am pledged to you, Emilyne.”
An expression crossed her face, one of annoyance and exasperated resignation. “You’re confused, Tabor. My father can help you, but you must mind what he says, or you and your family will suffer ruin.”
Her threat felt like a slap. “I have fought hard to keep my lands. Your father himself acknowledged that last night. Look at my fields. My knights are provisioned, my stables full, the larder well stocked.”
“An illusion, Tabor. I’ve heard the stories. You frequent the fairs, gambling like a desperate highwayman, rolling with whores and bringing them home. And trick me you will not. I have seen behind the rich carpets your mother laid to take our eyes from the want. You have many fine horses, but not enough saddles to ride them. Many knights, but outdated, inferior armor. Your church leaks when it rains. You need my dowry, and I need you, but you will not touch it or me until you heed my wishes.” She turned to go. “And I shall tell her such this very moment.”
He grabbed her arm. “You will not.”
Her lips thinned with anger. “You prefer peasants and heathens over your own kind. Mayhaps the stories Lord Hungerford tells are true and you aren’t noble at all. At any rate, you’re no longer my problem. You’re inferior. I will not wed beneath me.”
* * * * *
Tabor climbed the steps to the solar. The Marmyls had been gone for nigh a sennight, and his wounds and bruises had healed. His mother no longer spoke civilly to Sharai, and begged Tabor daily to send her away and summon Emilyne.
Tabor had reminded his mother that Father Bernard had forbidden Sharai’s departure, and Tabor forbade Lady Anne to do anything that would make Sharai feel unwelcome.
Still, he knew he must regain Emilyne’s favor or forfeit the Marmyl family support at a time when his family and people desperately needed it. He had penned a letter to Emilyne, asking her to return, but he could not find it in himself to send it, for the price of sending it would be the loss of Sharai.
A traveling caravan of tinkers and jewelers had arrived in the village, distracting all but the tower guards. The great hall was deserted, and the solar was empty of all but Sharai, who labored, still, at her craft.
She had spread a bolt of red silk on the table and was sewing pleats in the fabric. She hummed softly, a haunting, mournful tune that dipped in low notes with frequent sharps and flats.
He remained silent, savoring the look of her, the way her braids rested on her breasts, her stockinged feet free because she had, as usual, tossed off her shoes. Her rich, brown skin, and the ebony hair that escaped the braids at her temple, curling in twists that reminded him of how her hair fell when free.
She noticed him and stopped her haunting song. Her mouth curved in a gentle smile of welcome.
His heart faltered. His legs carried him of their own accord, and he was near her, feeling the heat from her body. “What is that tune?”
“A song about a young Gypsy girl,” she said. A hint of cider from the midday meal lingered on her breath. “She chased a butterfly and became lost in the forest.”
He traced the pleasing curve of her oval face. “She was found, though.” He didn’t know the story, but guessed.
“No. The faeries took pity on her and turned her into a deer, so she could live among the forest animals. ’Tis a song to remind young children to not wander off in the forests, for in the darkness it is so easy to become lost. I used to sing it to Kadriya.”
He took her in his arms and pulled her close, and her breasts pressed against the thin silk of his doublet. “Am I a danger to you?”
Her breath hitched. “I cannot escape you. I close my eyes and I see you. You are always with me, yet I am alone. You can never be with me, but still you are there.” A tear slid down her cheek, traveling to the curve in her lip.
A flash of sadness stabbed at him, and he brushed the tear away. “I’ll never leave you alone. You’re with me, too.” He tilted her chin and offered her a smile. “You’re in my dreams, as, thanks to Maud, everyone in Coin Forest knows.”
Her eyes seemed to glow with love, but in their depths, he saw a shadow of fear.
Hoping to erase it, he kissed her. Her lips were soft, wet with the salty tang of her tear. Her mouth and her small body fit perfectly to his. He deepened the kiss, savoring the apple sweetness of her mouth and the subtle movement of her legs, the unmistakable, delightful movement of desire as her thighs curved around one of his.
Her hands laced around his neck, and she pressed closer to him.
<
br /> His loins heated, a sensation that filled him with a sense of being newly alive. With difficulty he pulled away. The solar offered no privacy, and he needed the luxury of time to purge her fear. “Come to my chamber.”
Her face tensed and she withdrew.
He seethed. Would that he could crush the man who had ravaged her. He took her small hands in his and kissed her palms, his gaze never leaving hers. “’Tis an invitation, not an order.” He curled her fingers and brought her hands to his heart. “Bring your dagger, though you will not need it. I will do nothing that is not your wish. My chamber has a secret passage that leads to the hall. You can exit undetected.” He kissed her again thoroughly, savoring the wet passion in her kiss. “Come to me tonight, and both of us will know ’tis of your own free will.” He released her and walked with difficulty to his chamber.
* * * * *
Sharai rose from the bed, careful to not wake Kadriya. The candle on the hearthstone had burned to the bottom. She looked in the direction of Tabor’s chamber, and her heart skipped in anticipation. Her body craved his closeness, and she yearned for the warmth of his arms around her, his big hands stroking her with such gentleness.
Fright stilled her legs before they reached the door, and she sighed, her breath escaping her body in a shudder. She feared Tabor was driven by lust, not love. She could ill afford to risk all for a simple night of passion, which would be, in the end, a simple, vulgar act. Had she not learned her lesson about men?
She returned to her bed and watched Kadriya in the weak candlelight, minding her steady breathing, her golden hair tangled from playing, sticking out like an uncurried horse’s mane on her pillow. Kadriya depended on her, and Sharai had promised she would always be there for her. Sharai would not find security bedding a betrothed man. She needed a husband, but she could no longer imagine leaving Tabor.
Frightened at the many uncertainties, she quietly slipped under the covers, trying to still the insistent humming in her body.
* * * * *
Four days later, Tabor studied the large parchment in the midday sunshine. Bold colors flashed across its surface, revealing the heraldic bearings that reached a century back in the past, summarizing his family’s bloodline. He turned to Father Bernard. “Do you see anything questionable?”
The priest shook his head.
“Tis a fine job, Father.”
“Thank you.” He smiled, wiping the sweat from his brow with a linen handkerchief. “Mustn’t stain the parchment.”
Tabor pulled the moist tunic from his chest. The last two days had been brutally hot, with heavy moisture in the air and nary a breeze.
Father Bernard pointed to the bottom left. “I need only to copy the Chivington line, and it will be ready for your trip to London.”
Tabor would leave in two weeks for his hearing with Gloucester to prove the falsehood of Hungerford’s claim. He nodded approvingly. “This will settle it.”
“Yes. We do not need the earl’s meddling.” The priest had developed a keen dislike for the Marmyls. “You can manage your own estates.”
“But the dowry.”
“You’ll manage.”
He thought of Marmyl’s power in the court and a pang of worry took the glow from Father Bernard’s praise. “I hope so.”
Tabor exited the church. Sharai would be taking her midday walk about now. It had been four days since he had waited in vain for her to come to his chamber, waited until the dawn’s light vanquished all hope that she would trust him and come to him of her own free will. She’d been withdrawn since then, avoiding physical closeness, her withdrawal trying his patience. He must find a way to make her trust him.
He saw Sharai, but his mother was there with her by the well, and her words held a sharp edge. He hurried to them.
“Look me in the eye and tell me that this isn’t the devil’s work.”
Sharai turned to Lady Anne, her back straight with defiance. “It’s just—food.”
Lady Anne lifted a handful of what appeared to be fine white sticks and shoved it in Sharai’s face. “Is this typically your dinner, then, this collection of frog bones?”
Tabor waved Lady Anne to back away. “What goes here?”
She turned to him. “Look at what this--this sorceress has done. Britta saw her fiddling with a dead frog behind the stables last week, and cast your eyes on this. She cursed the frog and stripped its flesh and has spoken some spell upon it. You should never have brought these Egyptians here. They defile our family and land.”
“But for my skin I’m Christian, same as you,” Sharai said.
Father Bernard joined them. “’Tis true, Lady Anne.”
“She put a spell on that frog, and she chanted my son’s name when she did it.” Lady Anne hurled the bones into a patch of high weeds. Wiping her hands on her skirt, she glared at Tabor. “You scorn a dowry that could solve our woes, all for this. Do you not see?”
“I see you care more for your position than your son,” Sharai said.
Lady Anne blanched and slapped Sharai.
Sharai glared at her then spun away and stalked toward the drawbridge.
Lady Anne turned to Father Bernard. “Explain these bone rituals.”
Tabor followed Sharai, catching up with her at the turn to the mill.
“Forgive her. She’s distraught about—”
“Losing that dowry. I know.” She cast an angry look at him. “Are you going to ask about my sorcery?”
“I know you’re no sorceress.” He gave her a playful smile. “And since I’m still alive, your palm reading skills are suspect, as well.”
“I never said your life was in danger.”
“I’m better at reading faces than you are at reading palms.” He smiled still, trying to make her see the humor. “I am curious about the frog, though.”
Her chest heaved with frustration and anger. “I’ll pay for what’s due on my contract. Kadriya and I will find a tribe that welcomes us.”
“I welcome you.”
“You want me for pleasure. You’re like the rest.”
“How saintly would you like me to be? Did I burst into your chamber like a wild stag and take you against your will? Nay. I invited you. ’Twas not I that ravished you.” He pounded his chest in frustration. “Not I!”
He took a deep breath and lowered his voice. “I would bleed before I harmed you.” He stood in front of her to block her forward progress and swallowed hard. “I love you.”
She hesitated, then grimaced. “Love, hah. Fancy words until you get that which you crave, and ’twill be the end. Think you I haven’t learned the hard way?”
“How interesting. You’re like my mother.”
Her eyes flashed ebony anger. “What?”
“She judges all Gypsies by the actions of a few, as do you with men, judging all from the actions of one.”
“You try to trick me with your words. I don’t know your language well enough to spar with you.”
He laughed. “Now there’s a jest.”
They had reached a low spot a half-mile past the mill, where the land dipped sharply and the stream cut a large crevice in the earth. There, just past a healthy stand of tall wheat, a patch of earth bloomed sweet with grass and flowers, shaded by a dense stand of willows.
He gestured to a shaded spot, just inches from the cool stream, sheltered from the sun. “it’s insufferably hot. If we must argue, let’s do so in the shade.”
“It is cooler,” she agreed.
He claimed a lush spot on the grass, flattening the tall grass for her. “Now where were we? Oh, yes, I accused you of condemning all men based on the actions of a few.”
She settled in the spot he had prepared for her. “Men have their strength and swords. Women have the softness of their bodies to sway men’s minds. Once you know me, you will leave me.”
“Is that all you think of yourself, Sharai? Or is that just how shallow you think me to be?”
She lowered her head.
“Tell me. I’m not ravishing your body, I’m just asking a simple question. What were you doing with the frog?”
She turned away from him, absently twisting a tall blade of cool grass around her finger. She could not tell him. He would laugh at her, and she had endured insults enough this day.
He rested his hand on her shoulder. “Is it about me?”
She sighed. “’Tis all about you, Tabor.”
He tilted her chin and kissed her, his lips soft and wet against hers. His hands slid down the sides of her neck in a possessive caress that wakened her skin. She raised her breasts to him without thinking, and a soft moan escaped his lips, sending a spike of desire to her lower body. Keeping his mouth on hers, he lifted her in his arms and settled on the grass with her in his lap.
He broke the kiss, and his big hands cradled her head. An errant lock of dark hair fell in front of his brown eyes. “I will stop whenever you wish.”
His eyes were luminous with desire. She kissed him deeply, threading her fingers through his hair, savoring the coarse texture of the strands and the strength of his muscles under her fingertips. A waft of cool air from the stream gave relief from the heat.
He ended the kiss and lowered her, unlacing her gown, sliding it off her shoulders. His kissed her bare shoulder, trailing his fingers over the top of her breast. “Like velvet,” he murmured. “Your skin is more beautiful than in my dreams.” He brushed his palm over her nipple, still covered by her gown.
She should stop him now, she knew, but like faeries making rings of magic, he awakened her skin, stirring her desire, stealing her resolution to resist.
Unable to bear it, she placed his hand firmly on her breast. His erection pushed against her, hard as stone.
Her breath caught.
“Relax, Sharai, and trust me.”
Looking for reassurance, she saw his eyes, brimming with tenderness and passion. Tabor, who rescued her from Count Aydin, bore her refusal to come to his chamber, still sought her out. Tabor, who defied Lady Anne’s will, stood steadfastly at her side, despite the penalties. The air hummed in her ears.
He bared her left breast, admiring it with a soft smile that sent a shock of heat to her middle. He lifted her to him and covered her nipple with his mouth.