Secret Thunder Part 4

Arising from bed, she crossed to a window and swung open the shutters. The light of a full moon washed into her bedchamber, and a mild breeze fluttered her thin night shift. She rubbed her bare arms as she gazed out over the thatched roofs of the village, where revelers still danced around a bonfire in the middle of the green, and beyond it to the vast woodlands and rolling meadows that surrounded her manor.

Somewhere, a woman shrieked. Faithe tensed, but presently the same voice erupted in giggles, and she relaxed. A movement near the sheep fold caught her eye. Squinting, she made out a couple racing hand in hand into the woods. The woman's white-blond hair whipped behind her like a flag. Faithe recognized her as Willa, one of her kitchen wenches. The man must be Nyle Plowman. Some of the couples who celebrated this night in the forest were longtime sweethearts, like Nyle and Willa. Some were married-usually, but not always, to each other. Others, transported by the festive atmosphere, or the ale, or the simple lure of the flesh, came together for this night only.

A splash made her turn toward the river that cut through her demesne like a horseshoe. Two faraway figures-a man and a woman, naked in the moonlight-emerged from the water and ran into the tall gra.s.s on the opposite sh.o.r.e. Faithe thought the woman might be Edyth, the young dairymaid. At first she took the man for Firdolf, the bondman who did odd jobs for her, but then she realized it couldn't be him. Firdolf had been mooning after one of the twins for some time now-Leola, that was the one-to the exclusion of all other women. If he hadn't been able to talk Leola into celebrating this night with him, Faithe doubted he would do any celebrating at all. The fellow with Edyth must be one of Firdolf's many look-alike cousins.

The dairymaid's companion fell upon her, and soon they were a tangle of arms and legs, writhing together in an age-old rhythm.

Faithe closed the shutter and rested her forehead against the slatted wood, but the image of the couple on the sh.o.r.e refused to fade. It had been so long since she'd experienced the pleasures of the flesh that she couldn't remember clearly what it felt like to take a man inside her-to take Caedmon inside her, for her husband had been the only man she'd ever given herself to.

Faithe didn't think what she'd felt for Caedmon could rightly be called "love." She'd liked him well enough, though. He'd treated her with respect and been a good husband in many ways, despite his lack of interest in Hauekleah-or perhaps even because of it, for his unwillingness to involve himself in farm life had meant that Faithe could govern Hauekleah as she pleased. When she'd learned of his death, she had grieved, but her dark melancholy had quickly vanished in the light of all her duties as mistress of Hauekleah.

She and Caedmon had shared few interests, and in truth had rarely even conversed-except in bed. s.e.x had been the highlight of their marriage, and certainly the only pastime they had in common. For close to a year now, Faithe had lived chastely, but not by preference. Many times she had ached for a man's touch. Since Caedmon's death, she had oftentimes thought of marrying again-a husband of her own choice this time, a union of the heart.

The breezes carried another voice from the woods: a man calling, "Elga... Elga!" and then crying out in surprise. He must have found her-or she him. Elga Brewer and her husband were the happiest couple Faithe knew. Their mingled laughter made her smile.

A union of the heart...

Her smile faded. There would be no such union for her, it seemed. Instead, there would be Luke de Perigueux. The Black Dragon. A creature with a taste for blood.

Saxon blood. And yet...

Closing her eyes again, she recalled the mesmerizing caress of his knuckles as they'd brushed her neck, again and again, while he braided her hair. The thoughtful gesture had stunned her; it had also ignited a longing in her, a desperate ache born of long months alone in a cold bed.

She could still feel the ticklish warmth of his touch on the back of her neck.

She could also still feel the imprint of his fingers on her wrists. Opening her eyes, she held her hands up and inspected the red-hot marks that would be bruises by this time tomorrow.

Fool. Luke de Perigueux was a monster, the last man in the world she should want in her bed; yet he'd be there soon enough. Shivering, she donned a wrapper over her shift, whispering, "Please, G.o.d, let him tire of me quickly. Let him leave here, like Thorgeirr, and never return." Grimly, she crossed herself.

Thinking to check on Sir Alex, she quietly opened the door of her chamber, situated over the service rooms-the b.u.t.tery, pantry, and dairy-at the north end of Hauekleah Hall. Looking down into the main hall, dimly lit by a single oil lamp, she saw the figure of a man wrapped in a blanket, standing with his back to her at a window-Alex. His brother, who'd been keeping watch over him, was nowhere to be seen. The servants had all either retired to their own cottages nearby, or were out celebrating tonight; only hirelings slept in the hall, usually at harvest time.

The young man turned toward her as she descended the narrow staircase; he must have had good hearing, for she was silent as the night in her bare feet. "My lady."

"Sir Alex."

He made a rueful face. "We're being a bit formal for brother and sister, don't you think?"

"Ah. Yes, I suppose so." Soon he'd be her brother by marriage. Faithe tugged her wrapper more snugly around herself.

"Call me Alex."

"Then you must call me Faithe."

"I'm sorry I can't speak to you in your own language," he said. "I haven't my brother's gift with foreign tongues. I can understand English pa.s.sably well, but as far as carrying on a conversation in it..."

"That's perfectly all right." England was now ruled by those who spoke the Frankish tongue; she'd best get used to it. "You must return to bed," she said, noting his pale complexion and gla.s.sy eyes. "You have no business being on your feet." That he could stand here like this, chatting casually, in his condition, was a testament both to his youthful fort.i.tude and lack of sense.

Far-off laughter made Alex turn back to the window. "What's going on out there?"

Faithe looked down and tightened the sash of her wrapper. "'Tis a holiday. The people are celebrating."

He scratched his smooth chest thoughtfully. "Those two girls who fed me supper, the twins..." His smile was so lewdly wistful that Faithe couldn't help but chuckle. He cleared his throat, but the smile remained. "Charming girls."

"Aye."

"They wanted me to come into the woods with them tonight, but of course I'm not up to the walk. When I tried to find out why, they both turned the most beguiling shade of pink and refused to answer. It made me wonder."

The only thing Faithe wondered at was that Lynette and Leola, the most merrily wanton creatures she'd ever known, had the capacity to blush. She shrugged and attempted to change the subject. "Where is your brother?"

"Luke went out to investigate, after we started hearing all the laughter and such. I think he headed for the woods."

Dear G.o.d. Faithe cleared her throat. "Yes, well, then it's up to me to get you back to bed. Come." Guiding him by the arm, she led him to his pallet. It was slow going; he grimaced with every halting step. When they got there, she helped him to lie down.

He unwrapped the blanket, murmuring an apology for his state of undress, although it clearly troubled him little, and rearranged it on top of him.

"You really ought not to have gotten up," Faithe scolded. "Let me check those poultices." They all needed changing. She lifted the perforated clay fire-cover off the hearth, added a log to the glowing coals, and put a small pot of water on the trivet to warm. Alex watched her quietly as she mixed up a new batch of the herbal compound and spread it on the linen.

"My brother's lucky to have gotten himself betrothed to you," he said.

Faithe's cheeks grew warm. "I suppose it's handy to have a wife who knows how to fix cuts and sc.r.a.pes."

"That's not what I meant," he responded with a smile. "You're very beautiful."

The warmth became a scalding burn that encompa.s.sed her entire face. "This one's ready," she said without looking up. "If you'll just fold back the-"

"I didn't mean that the way it sounded." He rose onto an elbow, letting out a little grunt of pain. "That is, I don't want you to think... well, that I fancy you. Perhaps under other circ.u.mstances, but as it is-"

"I understand. Would you just fold back-"

"You're betrothed to my brother, and I would never-"

"Yes, I understand. Now, please-"

"I was just stating a fact, that's all. That Luke is a lucky man to have such a beautiful bride."

"Lie down." Faithe turned back the blanket herself to expose his hip, keeping the rest of him modestly covered, and peeled off the old poultice. His skin felt hot to the touch; she'd have to do something about that fever. "Your brother doesn't seem very impressed. He said I look like a goose girl."

Alex laughed. "I've never known a goose girl who wasn't pretty." He shrugged. "But then, almost all women are pretty if you just look at them from the right angle."

"The right angle?" She couldn't resist a smile as she ran a damp cloth over his wound, which was blessedly free of swelling or redness. "I a.s.sume you mean looking down on them as they lie on their backs beneath you."

A pause, and then he burst out laughing. "By G.o.d's eyes, you'll be good for Luke. He needs a woman like you to shed some light on that dark soul of his."

Faithe's smile subsided. She prepared another poultice as he studied her unself-consciously. "You're very different, you and your brother," she said.

Alex gazed thoughtfully at the ceiling for some time while she subst.i.tuted the second poultice for the one on his side. "Not as different as you might think."

"He's got a darker temperament." She covered him back up and unwrapped the bandage from around his head. "You said so yourself."

"Aye...

"And there's his reputation." She cleaned his head wound and spread the last of the hyssop and pennyroyal mixture on a small square of linen.

"The Black Dragon," Alex said, "is what Luke is, not who he is."

She washed off her hands and wrapped a bandage around his head. "I don't understand."

"People see the beast with the crossbow, and they think that's all there is to Luke de Perigueux. But inside" -he tapped his chest- "in here, he has the heart of a man. A good man."

"Yes, well..." She tied off the bandage. "Is that too tight?"

Alex struggled up onto his elbow again, although it was clearly painful for him. "He's saved my life five times."

"Yes?" She rose to fill a jug with boiling water from the pot.

"The fifth time was this afternoon, when those two men attacked us." His dark eyes glittered with fever and sincerity.

Faithe added sprigs of lemon balm and wood sorrel to the jug and stoppered it, then set about straightening up the mess she'd made.

"They came out of nowhere," he said, lying back down with a grunt and folding an arm over his face. "We were riding along, looking for Hauekleah, and suddenly there was a man next to me, swinging that mallet. He got me in the side first, with the spike, and I ended up on my back in the dirt. I went for my sword, and he aimed for my hand, but got my hip instead."

Faithe sucked in a breath.

"Better my hip than my hand," he a.s.sured her, peeking out from beneath his arm with a smile. "A swordsman's not worth much without his sword hand."

"I suppose not," she muttered.

"I managed to get my sword drawn, but I couldn't get up to use it, and I knew one swipe of the mallet would send it flying. I reckoned there was a good chance I was going to get my skull bashed in. The other son of a... the other bandit hung back and aimed his sling at Luke, but I gather he wasn't a very good shot." Alex squinted, as if to focus his memory. "Luke dismounted and came right up to the fellow with the mallet, which took some nerve, since he was completely unarmed."

"A soldier traveling without a weapon?"

"They weren't permitted in the monastery."

"Monastery?"

"The abbey at St. Albans. Luke spent the past two months there. I thought you knew."

"Nay. Why did he... was he doing penance?"

Alex hesitated, then finally said, "'Tis best you ask him yourself."

"I can't ask him. I hardly know him."

He grinned. "You hardly know me."

"Aye, but you're so easy to talk to, and he's..."

"The Black Dragon," Alex finished.

Faithe nodded.

"Not in here," he said softly, touching his chest. "He came right up to the Saxon with the mallet-right up to him-with his arms held wide, shouting, 'Over here! Take me on, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d!'" Alex smiled a little sheepishly. "Pardon the language, my lady."

"It's 'Faithe,'" she reminded him, returning his smile. "Did Hengist-the fellow with the mallet-did he attack your brother?"

"Of course. He turned and swung that G.o.dforsaken thing, but Luke ducked and rolled beneath it, then grabbed my sword out of my hand and ran the wh.o.r.eson-sorry-ran the gentleman through."

Faithe let out her breath in a gust.

"I don't remember anything after that," he said.

"That must be when you got hit in the head with that rock. Vance gave it one last shot, and then they both fled. Your brother stayed behind to help you rather than go after them."

"You see?" Alex grinned smugly. "He's a good man."

"He's a good man to you. He's been a bad man to many others."

Alex scowled. "He's a soldier. He's supposed to do bad things. That's his vocation."

Having no answer for that, she unstoppered the jug and poured some of the dark, fragrant infusion into a cup. "This will ease your fever. Can you sit up?"

He did so, making a face. "I hate the taste of tonics."

"You'll like this one." She stirred a generous dollop of honey into the cup and brought it to her nose to inhale its tart-sweet aroma, then handed it to him.

He sniffed it suspiciously, then blew on it and took a small sip. His expression lightened, and he drank some more. "It's good! What is it?"

"Balm tea, of a sort." She poured a cup for herself, simply to enjoy its lemony warmth, and settled down in the rushes next to him. "'Twill cool you down and help you to sleep, so you can heal. You should be on your feet in a few days, a.s.suming you stay on that pallet and stop wandering around."

He shrugged as he sipped the hot brew. "It's hard just to lie there and do nothing. I get bored."

"Would you like me to read to you?"

He blinked. "You have a book?"

"I have four," she proudly stated, setting aside her cup and rising to cross to the locked chest in the corner. "A book of the gospels, a herbal, Aesop's Fables, and a book of Frankish poetry."

"I'd like to hear some of the fables, I think."

She pulled her key chain from beneath her nightgown and unlocked the chest. "Fables it is."

Luke eased open the front door of Hauekleah Hall as quietly as he could, to avoid disturbing Alex. He was sleeping, Luke saw, and sitting at his side, cross-legged in the rushes, was Lady Faithe.

She had her back to Luke and didn't appear to hear him come in. Slipping inside, he silently closed the door, but made no move to walk farther into the hall; the rushes would crackle underfoot, announcing his presence, and he wanted to watch her un.o.bserved for a few moments.

Watch her and listen to her, for she was speaking, quietly, despite that his brother, the only other person there, was oblivious to her. Her voice, soft and high, drifted across the huge hall to him like a breeze across a meadow, and within a few moments he recognized her words; she was telling the story of "The Fox and the Grapes"-in Latin! A movement of her hand caught his eye. He heard the muted crackle of parchment and noticed the book in her lap for the first time.