A Whisper of Rosemary (37 page)

He pulled to his feet, tall and powerful in his great height. “My dearest Maris, I have many, many enemies, and two more, especially for your sake, mean naught to me.” His gaze caught hers, holding it steadily, then falling downcast as he took one of her hands. He raised it to his mouth, brushing full, warm lips over the sensitive skin of the back of her hand. She shivered and tried to pull it free, but he held her firmly, turning it palm side up and pressing a gentle kiss to the cup of her hand. Little prickles of awareness shivered up her arm.

“
Dirick,” she breathed through a heavy, tight chest.

“
I require a kiss to seal our betrothal,” he told her, gathering her to his chest. “It is my right.” He was warm and solid, his arms a strong band holding her to him. Dirick looked down at her, not to seek her acquiescence, but for her to see the determination in his gaze before his mouth descended.

When their lips met, it was with a clash of heat and tenderness, a rush of pleasure. A new strength, a possessiveness, colored his kiss as bold confidence exuded from his person…and yet there was an easiness about it all. As if he had every bit of time he needed to explore, to taste, to coax and tease—as if he would do it so thoroughly that she would be left fully plundered.

And Maris, for her part, could hardly recall that she must breathe at some point. The world fell away and there was only Dirick, only his strength about her, only his clean, sharp scent the heat of his body burning into hers.

His hands slipped from her back down over her rump, pulling her up against the ridge of his arousal. He sighed, dipped his head to gently bite her neck, and released her. They looked at each other for a moment, assessing the other, gathering their wits, realizing that in four days they would be wed.

“
I shall tell you this only once, my lady,” he said at last in a voice rough with desire. “Though you may find marriage to me repulsive, you
will
suffer me in your bed…at the least until you have presented me with an heir.”

He stepped away, his chest still moving with quickened breaths. “Call upon your faithful knight to see you to your chamber. But I shall escort you to dinner this eve.”

CHAPTER TWENTY ONE

The next morning, Maris broke her fast alone in her chamber. She had no desire to rest her attention upon her betrothed husband any sooner than her wedding day demanded. She’d been so stunned by his kisses, and then broad sided by his steely command that she bear him an heir, that she’d been able to do naught but gape after him as he left her standing in the courtyard.

Dirick had not escorted her to dinner as he’d promised, for the king had called his council of barons together to discuss the problems with his brother in Anjou. As a newly confirmed lord who also had the ear of the king, Dirick was expected to participate in this activity, and, Maris thought, ’twas no hardship to her. Verily, she hoped he’d spend the rest of his time in the company of his liege lord.

He’d left her confused, uncertain, and trembling with something that she didn’t understand. And until she could determine how she must act around him—cool and remote, giddy and complimentary, or some other way—she was happy not to be in his presence.

According to Dirick’s pronouncement that she would join him in his bed, there would be time enough for that anon.

Agnes assisted her to dress in a traveling gown for a trip into London Town. Despite her annoyance with Dirick for his blunt, offensive orders to her the day before, Maris knew that she would be wed three days hence, and the womanly part of her desired to dress the part. And she must find a wedding gift for her husband.

Raymond and five other men-at-arms waited without her chamber, following as she and Agnes started down the hall.

Their horses were ready for them at the great royal stables. Maris offered Hickory a scrubbed carrot in apology for not visiting the day before, then, using a tree stump reserved for that purpose, hoisted herself lightly into the saddle.

As they approached the market area of London Town, the six men-at-arms stayed close around the two women. Once they reached the stalls where the cloth makers were, Maris and Agnes dismounted from their horses and, leaving their mounts with two of their burly guardians, began to weave their way through the crowds of people.

Raymond and the rest of the men cleared a path for the women, stepping out of the way when they reached a vendor that interested Maris.

She spent a better part of the morning searching for cloth to make her wedding gown, fingering silks and wools and linens from France, Italy, even the Holy Lands. At last, she discovered a merchant with brilliantly colored, tightly woven fabrics of such quality that she’d not seen. Each bolt cost more than one peasant family subsisted upon in one year at Langumont, and Maris nearly went on to a different stall.

But the merchant knew his trade, and when he saw the interest in her eyes and noticed the fineness of her clothing, he pulled a special cloth from the bottom of a trunk. Maris’s eyes widened when she saw it, and her mouth opened in a soft gasp. She’d never seen anything as beautiful as the shimmering pale gold cloth. Nearly sheer, and shot through with shiny gold threads in a spider web pattern, the fabric slithered over her fingers like a mere whisper. It would make a stunning under gown. Maris fingered it thoughtfully for a moment, then acquiesced to its beauty and commenced with haggling over the cost of the bolt.

Her undisguised interest was her undoing, and, though she was normally skilled in the technique of bargaining, the merchant was able to wring rather more gold from her than she should have paid. Maris purchased a second bolt of darker gold silk for her overgown at a much lesser cost, and a light, cinnamon colored wool for a cloak from the same merchant.

The party moved along from the cloth vendors, pausing to buy meat pies and cheese for a mid day meal. The libation offered by a local alewife was strong and pleasingly bitter, sending a tingle of happiness into Maris’s belly. They found sweet pastries at yet another stall and stood enjoying them at the side of the busy street.

Now came the difficult part: a wedding gift for her betrothed.

The men-at-arms wandered along the streets in Maris’s wake as she perused stall after stall, vendor after vendor, and was able to find nothing she deemed suitable for Dirick.

At last they came to the market section that housed the jewelers and the goldsmiths. Wandering up and down the narrow aisles between stalls, Maris felt a growing sense of frustration as nothing seemed appropriate for her soon-to-be husband. And why this task of finding a gift should plague her, she didn’t know…but it did.

Finally, she paused at a goldsmith that specialized in fashioning brooches and pins for the cloaks and mantles worn by men and women alike. The thought came to her of a sudden.

“
How quickly could you create a pin with my lord’s standard upon it?” she asked the smith.

The man frowned and ventured, “In six days, mayhap, my lady.”

She shook her head. “Half again as much if you can deliver it to me by Sunday morn.”

Obviously unwilling to the let opportunity pass him by, the smith considered briefly, then agreed. Maris dug out her leather pouch to give him an initial payment. When she pulled two silver coins from its depths, her dagger tumbled out onto the ground.

The smith stooped to retrieve it for her and made a little sound of delight. “Ah! Such a lovely piece. I’ve not seen this work for many a year, my lady!”

Instantly, her attention left the coins and focused on him. “You know of this work?”

“
Aye. ’Tis the skill of Frederick of Gladwythe.”

“
Where might one find this Frederick?” she asked, knowing that Dirick would demand the same information if he were present.

The smith shrugged. “My lady, I’ve not seen the man for five or six summers. He may be dead for all I know, as I’ve not seen any of his work for that long. He was not a young man.”

Maris dug an extra coin from her purse. “If you recall anything more about him, or where he might be found, do you send word to me, Maris of Langumont, or my betrothed husband, Dirick of Ludingdon. ’Tis a matter of life and death.”

He accepted the third coin with alacrity. “Aye, my lady. That I will do. And I will see that your husband’s pin is delivered to you by Sunday matins.”

“
I thank you, good sir.” She bid him a good day and returned to Raymond and her other companions with a new bounce in her step. On their wedding day, she would have two presents for her husband.

Because the streets were so crowded, the party did not mount their horses. They were ambling along, the urgency of the trip now gone, when a loud noise behind them drew their attention.

A heavy cart was speeding down the narrow street in their direction, bouncing pell mell behind two heavy horses. Screams and shouts rang through the air, and passersby jumped out of the way.

The cart narrowly missed the stall where Maris’s goldsmith was and trundled along without pause. As the crowd surged and ebbed, frantic to escape the runaway cart, Maris became separated from her party.

“
Lady!” Raymond shouted when he saw the horses running straight at her.

She tried to duck out of the way, but the cart changed direction, following her as she dodged off the street. It rumbled along in her wake, tearing stalls from their moorings and knocking displays from their tables, gaining proximity as she stumbled down an alley.

Her lungs hurt and her leg ached where she tripped against the side of a stall, but Maris did not stop. The cart came closer, the noise barreling behind her like the rush of a huge wave, and she knew she would not come out of this alive.

Suddenly, as the alley opened onto a wide street, she spied the stone enclosure of a public well. Heading for it, she said a quick prayer. Maris grabbed the heavy wooden framework that supported a large bucket and jumped up and out of the way of the cart.

The cart stormed by, leaving dust in its wake, then disappeared down a side street.

Raymond ran up, his face tight with fear, exclaiming, “Lady, lady, are you all right?”

Shaken, Maris clambered down from her perch on the side of the well. Though she knew her eyes were huge, belaying her fright, she spoke calmly, “Aye, I am unhurt but for my leg.” She looked down at her torn, dirty gown, and knew that her hair, which had come unveiled during the chase, hung in sagging braids and straggles down her back. Discreetly, she lifted her skirt to examine her bloody, bruised leg.

Rufus, one of the other men-at-arms, brought Hickory to her and assisted Maris into the saddle. Her leg pained her and her head felt light, but she was determined to ride back to Westminster on her own accord.

They were nearly to the castle when they were met by a small company of men carrying the standard of Dirick of Ludingdon. Dirick himself rode at the forefront, and drew up his reins at the approach of the men from Langumont and its mistress.

“
Ho!” he called, separating from his men to ride up to Maris’s side. His eyes widened at her disheveled appearance. “Maris! What has befallen you?”

She brushed a grimy hand over her face. “Naught but a near miss by a cart. ’Twas a runaway that got loose in the marketplace and I fell while trying to evade it.”

His lips tightened. “You did not tell me you were going to London. I would have been your escort had I known.”

Maris bristled even as she felt Raymond stiffen beside her. “My men are more than an adequate escort for me, my lord, and I will visit the market when I will, with or without your permission.”

Dirick’s face became empty of emotion. He reached over and took the reins from her hands, then led Hickory and her mistress away from the group of men. It wasn’t until he looked down at her that she realized she’d never seen him that cold and angry.

“
I did not demand that you ask my permission to visit the market, Maris,” he said in a carefully emotionless voice. “However, you will never again speak to me in that manner in the presence of my men or your men. I was concerned only for your safety, as you are still unwed and a desirable match for any man—and from the look of your clothing, I can see that I was right to think so.”

With that, he turned and rejoined the party of men-at-arms, leaving Maris to follow him.

“
Sir Raymond,” Dirick said, trying to force his anger to subside, “ride with me if you please. The rest of you, see that my lady returns to Westminster without acquiring anymore dirt on her face.”