A Bed of Spices (15 page)

With a rush of excitement, she hurtled down the hill, her heart singing. “Solomon!” she cried out in exuberance as she stopped by the edge of the river. She waved to him.

He wiped his eyes and stared at her. Water streamed from his dark hair and glistened on his broad, well-formed shoulders. She suddenly thought there were things she didn’t know, things she wished to learn. Things he might teach her.

He found his footing. “You surprised me!”

Rica mischievously fingered his clothes, hanging from the branch of a tree. “So I see!”

“Will you join me?” he called, spreading his arms in invitation.

Rica only smiled.

“I beg you turn then,” he said, walking toward her.

The current fell lower and lower as he approached the bank, showing a strong chest covered with dark hair, and a lean waist. “Give a poor man a little dignity to dress.”

Rica did not move, smiling instead as she eyed the length of his torso. “You have nothing I have not seen on the bodies of a hundred knights as they bathed, my lord.”

“Ahhh,” he said with a crooked and knowing grin. “Are you so certain?”

Rica tossed her head. In truth, he was marvelously well made. No softness marred his flesh. There was an astonishing array of beauties to admire—his hard, rounded arms and lean waist and wide shoulders.

Solomon grinned and stepped forward. The water dropped lower, to his hips. Rica only smiled.

But then he moved again, a measured expression of teasing in his dark eyes, and the silvery water sluiced away from his magnificent flesh. A razor of yearning sliced through her loins as images branded themselves in her mind: a nest of dark curls and lean hips and the shining length of a strong thigh—

With a little cry, she whirled away, slapping her hands over her face. Behind her, Solomon laughed. She scurried away from the tree where his clothes hung, still hiding her face.

In a moment, he grabbed her from behind, his arms decently draped in his tunic. “‘You have nothing I have not seen,’” he mimicked in a high, falsetto voice, pulling her against him. He chuckled, bending to kiss the tender flesh of her neck. “Are you so shy, sweet lady?”

“No,” she said sadly and turned in his embrace. “I fear I am too bold.”

She flung her arms around his neck. His body was damp and smelled of sunshine and cool water, and the smiling curve of his lips was only inches from her own. “Oh, by the saints,” she said with a sigh, “I care not if it is sin to hold you thus. I have thought of nothing else since early morn.”

She lifted herself on her toes and kissed him, kissed the smile from his mouth. Her body sang as he grabbed her close. There was fierce hunger in the noise he made low in his throat and she pressed upward, clutching his head between her hands.

In a moment, gasping, he took her arms gently. “I am only a man,” he murmured, touching her face. “I cannot kiss you all day without pause or I will go well and truly mad.”

His eyes were glazed, and his lower lip glistened with moisture from her mouth. Hesitantly, she touched the place with her thumb, and with a sudden move, he bit her playfully. “Come,” he said with a smile. “I’ve brought food.”

“I can stay only a little. My father is not well.”

“Whatever it is will suit me.”

Beneath a chestnut tree was a small bundle. He unwrapped it and took out a small cake, cheese, and a wineskin. He withdrew the last thing, hiding it a little with his hands, and Rica inclined her head curiously.

“What have you there?”

“A surprise.” Me held it out, a small painting rendered in vivid reds, blues, and sharp whites. “Tis Cairo.”

Rica, stunned, took the painting and stared at it with a feeling of awe. “Oh, Solomon.”

There was the fierce Muslim warrior with his scimitar, and the slain Christian knight. Scarlet tipped the sword and flowered over the knight’s breast. Behind rose white mushroom shapes. She pointed to them. “What is this?”

Solomon bent over her shoulder. “Mosques—the cathedrals of Islam.”

“I wonder if they are as beautiful as they appear.” She stared, transfixed, seeing in her mind this street and the women in their dark robes with their faces covered. A trill of excitement sounded over her nerves—the whole earth seemed suddenly a thousand times larger and vastly more seductive.

She looked up, clasping the painting to her breast. “This is a most precious gift, Solomon. I will treasure it always.”

“I knew that you would.” His fingers brushed her cheek and fell away. “Will you eat with me?”

Rica kept the painting close by her leg. “I wonder how the air smells there.”

“I don’t know. But there are spice markets—perhaps it smells of cloves and cinnamon.”

“Perhaps it does!” Rica laughed, then cocked her head. “What interests you about the place, Solomon?”

“The physicians,” he said without hesitation. “If not for the Moors, we would all still be barbarians.” He broke a bit of cheese. “One day, I will study with them.”

“You sound very sure.”

He chewed a bit of bread before he answered. “One day, I will go.”

The words plucked at her, for they brought too much reality into the stolen day. “It seems strange I will miss you so much,” she said quietly.

He didn’t speak for a moment, his head bent. After a little time, he lifted his eyes and met hers with a clear, honest expression. “My father is sending me to Montpellier in the autumn.”

Rica swallowed, then stretched out her hand to touch his face. “You have become important to me so quickly,” she whispered and stroked his jaw where a light beard grew.

He looked at her, his black eyes fathomless and full of sorrow and yearning. Urgently, he reached for her, his hands circling her head below her hair. “I care not if it is impossible,” he whispered. “For now, for today, we are here.” He kissed her.

A turbulent gladness welled in her at the taste of his mouth, at the feel of his form against her, at the press of his stomach against her own. His lips moved over her face and touched her chin, then her neck, and trailed a line over her collarbone. Sunlight fell through tree branches to create dapplings of light and shadow on the lids of her closed eyes, and from the forest came the sound of crickets whirring and sparrows singing. Grass brushed her calves.

Solomon lifted his head, shifting so that her thighs straddled his legs. There was ruddy color in his cheeks. He kissed her again, differently this time. He suckled the edge of her mouth and tasted the corners and teased her tongue, and his hands roved over her arms.

Rica felt a Tightness in the moment, a dizzy power. His hands moved on her shoulders, then over her chest above her gown.

She stilled, thinking of her forbidden dreams of him, but even as she went rigid, his hands slipped down over her breasts.

A quivering rippled through her at the pleasure this new thing gave her. Startled, she looked up and found herself snared in his black eyes. His gaze held her as his thumbs stroked over her nipples, back and forth slowly. And still she stared at him in wonder, shimmering with the pleasure that radiated through her from the gentle motions.

She smiled a little, and he closed the inches between them to kiss her fiercely, engulfing her with his silky hot tongue. Against her belly was a rigidness, and, caught in the shivery thrill of the moment, Rica reached down instinctively to take it in her hands.

“Ah, lady,” he said with a strangled sound in his throat. “Ah—Rica, no.” He grabbed her wrists in a hard grip.

Still overflowing with pleasure, Rica did not listen. Though he held her hands, his position was vulnerable, and with a laugh, she launched herself forward, tumbling him back into the grass. They landed in a tangle, her arms caught in his hands, their thighs interlocked.

She laughed as they struggled, the laughter gentling in her throat as she bent to kiss him and felt his lips grow soft and giving and sensual. His grip eased on her wrists.

But at the moment she thought she had tamed him, he gave a triumphant little cry and rolled her to her back, trapping her there in the grass with his thighs and powerful arms.

“I am only a man, Rica,” he warned, his voice ragged. “I will not sully you for this dalliance that can lead nowhere, but you must abide by the limits I set.”

Rica smiled up at him, in spite of the serious tone of his words. “I will try.”

“
Oy Gotenyu
! You will drive me mad.” He fell upon her, kissing her neck and ear, her jaw and eyelids and lips. “In all God’s kingdom, there is no woman like you,” he said against her neck. “No woman.”

He reverently kissed the swell of her breasts over her gown. His hair brushed her chin. “Tis torture, Rica. More torture than I have ever known.”

All at once, as if dragging himself, he shifted away from her. He sat upright, taking her with him. He touched her cheek. “I said once I would give much to teach you passion, Rica, but there is much I think you would teach me.”

Rica buried her face against his neck. He stroked her back. “The world is not fair,” he whispered.

His words reminded her of Humphrey’s conversation with her father. Abruptly, she raised her head. “Solomon! My uncle says they are hanging lews in France for this plague. He says there will be no Jews left in the empire when it is all spent.”

He made a soft, low noise, something between a laugh and a groan. “I know.” He looked away from her. “It is an old story. When the world goes awry for others, it is always the Jews who are punished.”

“How foolish I am,” Rica said, feeling a flush steal into her cheeks. “I thought to warn you.”

A sad smile touched his mouth. “What could you know of such things? You are young and rich and the daughter of a powerful lord.”

Rica bent her head, disturbed in some unnamed and uncomfortable way. “My father said—” She broke off and frowned. “Ah, it is no matter.”

“What did he say, Rica?” A sharp bitterness edged his words. “That it is only fitting for Christ-killers to die in such ways?”

“No!” She shifted, inclining her head in fury. “Think you all lords are vain and ignorant? My father is a good man. He grieves for the killings.”

A dusky color stained his cheekbones. “Forgive me,” he said with his eyes downcast. “The world is no more his doing than it is yours or mine.” He took her hand and quoted softly,

“Ah, Love! could you and I with Him conspire To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire,

Would not we shatter it to bits
—
and then Remould it nearer to the Heart’s Desire
!“

Rica bent her head to kiss his fingers. As her lips touched his palm, she felt him touch her hair gently.

“I have not heard those words before,” she said. “The priest would call them blasphemous, but they comfort me today.”

“Holy men of all ilks think Omar Khayyam a blasphemous poet.” His hand moved in her hair. “I think that is why I find so much comfort in his words.”

Rica lifted her head. “Do you not believe, Solomon?”

“Believe in what?” A fury blazed now in his black eyes. “In the loss of you so I might gain Cod’s favor? Should I deprive myself of all that is rich in life—for what?” He shook his head. “I wish I did not believe, for I think it cruel of God to give you to me and snatch you away.”

Alarmed, Rica covered his lips. “Say no more!”

He grasped her fingers. Closing his eyes, he moved her hand over his mouth and the light fur of his beard, and settled a kiss to her palm. Deeply touched, Rica allowed it.

Finally he sighed. “The hour grows late and my bad temper will ruin this sweet time if I stay longer.”

Rica nodded. “Soon I will be missed.”

She stood up, brushing grass from her skirts, and helped Solomon gather the leavings of their meal. He broke the bread and cake into crumbs, scattering them along the riverbank, then came to stand beside her. She hugged the small painting to her breast.

“When will you come to me again, sweet Rica?”

She stared at him, loath to leave. A restlessness moved in her, a restlessness she knew would only worsen. With a small, worn cry, she pitched herself forward and kissed his tempting mouth one more time.

She thought of her father, and the bustling presence of her relatives, and knew it would not be soon. “I will be missed if I come often.” She frowned. “I’ll find you at Helga’s when I am able.”

He nodded soberly, and Rica could see his disappointment. A cloud shadowed the sun abruptly and she shivered, taking it as an ill omen. In dread, she stared at the darkness for a moment. How dared they break all the laws of God and man thus? “Solomon—”

He stilled her words by placing his fingers over her lips, as she had done moments before. “Do not speak it, Rica, I beg you.” His eyes were bleak. “There is so little joy in any life, I will take this time with you until I must go.” He smoothed a lock of hair from her face. “In our old age, we’ll remember and be glad.”

Her eyes filled with bittersweet tears. She wanted to rage against the certain loss of him, and yet could not deny there was beauty in his words, in the small hope he gave them. “So it shall be,” she whispered.

He stepped back. “Go now, before you are missed.”

A spell of
bad weather plagued the valley, and after several days of rain and drizzle, Rica grew weary. The men-at-arms were restless, and Charles was in fading health.

The vassals and guests played cards by day and drank heavily by night. Rain muddied the baileys and stables. Humphrey had today arranged a hunt, even in the wet weather, and the men had brought back a deer, which Cook dressed and served with great flourish. Maidservants had cleared it away now, and Rica sat with her sister and cousins on a bench in the great hall. The trestle tables had been moved aside, and dancers moved to the tune of a haunting lute.

Smoke from the fires and lack of exercise made Rica irritable. She cast a jaundiced eye over the room. In a corner, one of Humphrey’s men leaned over the buxom figure of a maidservant who blushed and giggled at his drunken whispers.

Rica shifted, looking the other way. She had warned the maids to steer clear of the drunken men late in the evenings, but they paid her little heed. Nine months hence, there would no doubt be a new crop of babes for Helga to deliver into the world.