Alinor (28 page)

Leicester, who was farthest from the point at which the sow and her young had erupted, had had time to collect his wits. He was able to take decent aim and skewer the second young one without mishap. This, however, left him with nothing but his hunting knife in hand to withstand the charge of the third, who had followed hard on the heels of his littermate. Crouching slightly, Leicester swung the knife up in an underhand blow. He did not catch the throat as he had hoped, but he did deflect the charge of the piglet just enough so that Sir Giles of Iford could finish it off.

Slowly the chaos of squealing pigs, yelping dogs, shouting men and violent physical activity began to die down. Everyone stood, panting and gazing around at the little clearing which was now almost carpeted with bodies. Dead dogs and dead pigs lay everywhere. Injured men groaned and struggled upright. Pembroke passed a bloody hand across his face in a kind of stunned amazement, levered himself up on his feet, and looked up at Alinor. Slowly a beatific smile of pleasure spread across his now blood-streaked features.

"I think," he said, chuckling deeply, "I think now we can safely blow the mort? I should have known nothing you arranged would be so tame as a simple boar hunt. Can I blow? Are there any more surprises awaiting us in this quiet little wood of yours?"

CHAPTER TWELVE

Although Alinor stoutly and repeatedly denied she was in any way responsible for the advent of the sow, she was grateful for it. There was no need to think about safe subjects for conversation at dinner time. No one had any interest in any subject but the hunt. Every hoofbeat and spear and knife thrust was described and analyzed. When the head of the boar was brought in formal procession to Lord Llewelyn, his remarkable feat was sung by a bard, with Owain hastily translating between the staves for the guests who did not understand Welsh. The head of the sow was then presented to Alinor.

Until that moment Ian had been very silent, partly because he was very much interested in hearing the details of the chase he had missed, and partly because he did not trust himself to speak more than a word at a time to Alinor. She had returned, much disheveled, with her hair completely loose, full of sticks and leaves, and had, like the other ladies, retired at once to put herself to rights. The rights were almost more than Ian could bear with the circumspection necessary before a crowd of people. Just as she tossed aside the torn and dusty wimple and her bloodstained riding dress, Alinor had cast off the hoyden, even cast off the lovely and lively young woman Ian had always known. Garbed in a soft, deep-green tunic and rich gold cotte, her eyes a little heavy-lidded with fatigue, her lips reddened by cold and exercise, Alinor suddenly presented to Ian an image of sultry sexuality. He did not know where to rest his eyes and had some difficulty in keeping his hands to himself.

The presentation of the sow's head brought his seething desire, his sense of loss for the Alinor he had known, who seemed to have disappeared, and his terror at the remembrance of her wild heedlessness of her own safety all to a head. Completely forgetting himself, Ian flushed brick red and roared, "Alinor! Did you not swear to me you would not hunt?"

"Would you have me sit and watch my friends and guests trampled and slashed without raising a finger to help them?" Alinor flashed back in no more moderate tone than his own.

The men at the high table whistled, clapped, and stamped their feet, urging on their host and hostess as one would encourage a pair of fighting dogs. This, naturally enough, reduced the combatants to laughter, but the militant light did not fade completely from either pair of eyes. Good breeding required that the battle be carried on in private, and so it would be at the proper time and place.

However, the fight was not to be continued that night when Ian and Alinor went up. Ian abruptly dismissed the menservants who had helped him up the stairs as soon as they reached the antechamber, and closed the door leading to the main room.

"You could have allowed them to help you into bed," Alinor protested. "We could talk as well with you lying down. You look tired and you look as if your leg hurts."

"I will not sleep in your bed tonight, Alinor," Ian said stiffly. If he lay there this night on the sheets that smelled of the same spicy scent—rose and something else—that Alinor used on her body, Ian knew he would not sleep at all. "There is a truckle bed set up for me in there." He gestured with his head toward the small chamber where Alinor's maids usually slept. "Do not argue with me," he added sharply. "I will not need any attendance tonight. I have something important to say, however, before we sleep. Oxford, as you might have noticed if you were not too busy killing sows, did not join the hunt."

"First of all, I did not swear I would not hunt," Alinor began heatedly. "All I said was―"

"Never mind that now." Ian said quite unfairly. "Oxford, as we both knew, came for a purpose, and he laid it before me while you were out. What does on your Irish lands, Alinor?"

"What does not?" Alinor remarked disgustedly, at once abandoning argument in favor of business. "My chief vassal there is one Sir Brian de Marnay, and until three years ago we had no trouble. The lands were never of great profit. The people are rude and the country largely untilled. Simon went there—let me see, it was just before Joanna was born—to see why so much land yielded so little profit. He was well received and confirmed that Sir Brian seemed loyal enough and that no more could be wrested from the land without doing more harm than good. Then our
dear
king appointed this madman Meiler FitzHenry as justiciar, and all went awry. He has driven the lesser barons into so determined a revolt that de Marnay can do nothing with them. Now rather than little, I receive nothing. Sir Brian wrote to Simon begging for help, but that was after Simon fell ill, and I did not even show him the letter."

"That was right. You could do no other way. Alinor―"

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. My heart ruled my head there, for Simon could at least have advised Sir Brian on the best tactics, which might have been of help. However, I could not bear that he should know he was called upon for help and unable to go. He fretted so much over his helplessness. So I told Sir Brian what had happened and begged him to do his best. I think he does. Simon said he was an honest man, and Simon was not easily befooled. Nonetheless, things go from bad to worse. I do not wish to let the lands go, yet—I have a fear of Ireland, Ian. I suppose it comes from my mother and father drowning on their passage home from there." She shuddered.

In spite of the dress and the glowing look of maturity, the old Alinor was still there. Ian took her hand and smiled at her. "That is not like you, Alinor. Think how near you came to drowning yourself on your way to the Holy Land. Do you fear that? And I know you used to go sailing for pleasure."

"It is true, and it is also true that I do not fear the sea, nor fear drowning. It is Ireland itself I fear—and not, it seems to me, for myself. Ian, why are we speaking of Ireland?"

"Because that was Oxford's purpose. He has large property there and, like you, has had nothing from it except complaints since FitzHenry has governed there."

"Why should he be different? William has been half crazy over what is happening, Isobel tells me. He has begged and prayed King John to let him go and at least set Leinster to rights, but the king has forbade it."

"So Oxford says also. To say it in plain words, Oxford wishes to avoid the king's commands and for a group of us to go and make peace there—at least on our own lands. To me it seems―"

"No, Ian! Oh, do not go to Ireland. Not now! I fear―"

"Certainly not now," Ian soothed, kissing the hand he held. "I must be married first, you know, and then there are those castellans of Simon's to settle with. In any case, the decision does not rest with me. Your holdings are small. What Oxford desires is that William of Pembroke should go. That is why he was so hot to come here. He wished to talk to Pembroke without giving John cause for suspicion."

A brisk war between her fear for and love of Ian and her passionate possessiveness was fought in Alinor's breast. Calling a temporary truce, she asked suspiciously, "If he was not urging you to undertake this enterprise, why should he miss a hunt to talk of it with you?"

"Out of the perfectly reasonable feeling that he had no right to press William of Pembroke to this action under my—or rather our—roof without our knowledge. Oxford will not go himself. That is reasonable, too; he is too old to be of much use. His part, and Salisbury's, is to prevent John from commanding Pembroke to return home, or declaring him a traitor, or taking any other action that will interfere with Pembroke's success."

"Salisbury thinks well of this plan?" Alinor asked unhappily.

"So well that he brought Oxford here," Ian pointed out.

"I do not know. I do not know. It does sound right and reasonable. If FitzHenry continues unchecked on the path he has taken, we will lose the Irish lands completely. I wish you had not told me. This weighs like lead upon my heart, and yet my mind says it is good."

"I think what weighs like lead upon your heart is your tiredness, Alinor. If you will go pig-sticking and riding like a madwoman, with your hair all undone, you must expect a little heaviness of spirit at the end of the day."

"What!" Alinor exclaimed, the more readily diverted because she knew her forebodings were baseless and useless. "Do you think I am so aged and decrepit that a hunt can wear me into a lassitude? I will show you yet my strength and endurance. We will see, between the two of us, who first cries, 'Enough! Enough!' "

The deep eyes lit. Ian's grip tightened on Alinor's hand, and he pulled her close. "Mayhap I will sleep in your bed this night after all," he muttered.

"Oh no you will not!" Alinor exclaimed briskly, pushing him away and wrenching her hand free of his grip.

"Why not, Alinor?" Ian pleaded. "What is the difference between tonight and three nights from now? I have been long without a woman. I want you."

She let him see that she was stirred by his appeal, but she nonetheless shook her head. "There is a difference to me. You will have made enough talk by closing the door thus, but that will be mended when I open it, showing all plainly that we remain as we entered."

"If that is all that troubles you, I will be quick," he urged. "Who will know that we were a few minutes more or less in talk?"

Alinor laughed in his face. "That may suit your need, but what of mine? Quickness is no recommendation to me."

"I will content you! I swear it!"

"Not tonight, you will not," Alinor reiterated, but with considerable effort.

"What is it about me that is not to your taste?" Ian cried passionately. "No other woman has ever so denied me, and the others had good reason to do so. Why will you not have me? We are betrothed husband and wife."

"Do not be such a fool," Alinor hissed, stretching her hand toward the latch of the door. "You are greatly to my taste, and I will have you with great pleasure. I will not deny that I desire you as greatly as you desire me. But I will not yield to your lust—nor to mine either —three days before my wedding. What you desire will be all the sweeter in three days time when it can be had without shame or a closed door or huddling back into clothing hastily shed." She flung open the door. "Gertrude! Ethelburga!" The maids slipped into sight from where they had been waiting. "Put Lord Ian to bed," Alinor said shortly. "I will tend to myself."

The next morning Ian was down before Alinor rose. When she appeared in riding dress to break her fast after hearing Mass, he ground his teeth.

"More pig-sticking?"

"I hope not," Alinor replied, smiling sweetly. "My huntsman was told to mark some great stags."

He opened his mouth and then gripped it tight shut Alinor noted his heavy eyes and giggled very faintly. She had been too tired to lie awake, lustful and unsatisfied, and she would be too tired again tonight after the wild ride she expected. Ian's rangy, wire-hard body desperately needed exercise even more than it needed a woman. Alinor guessed that was more than half his trouble, but he was tied by the leg. He would be wild by Sunday. So much the better. She noted that there had been no talk last night of his heart. All his attention was centered elsewhere.

By Friday dinnertime, after still another day of idling, Ian was not fit to speak with, as Alinor had expected. The lesser men took to avoiding him; the greater picked their words with care and confined themselves to political subjects that did not raise controversy. At table, Ian had given his attention largely to Lord Llewelyn's wife Joan, exercising such charm that Alinor saw there was more reason than his beautiful face why no woman ever denied him. She was not even mildly pricked with jealousy. Joan was sufficiently attractive, but she was no match for Alinor, who burned like a flame that dinnertime and evening in shades of crimson, silver embroidered and set with brilliants. Moreover, the light in Ian's dark eyes matched Alinor's dress on the occasions when he turned them on her.

Had Ian been Simon, Alinor herself would have suggested easing his tension by a premarital mating. There was nothing in Ian, however, to suggest Simon's ability to assess such a thing calmly. Something told Alinor that for all his discomfort and bad temper, Ian prized her resistance above any proof of tenderness that yielding would give. Perhaps it was because most women were so easy to him; he was the one who suggested that they were married already in faith, while Alinor espoused the Church-held view that the deed must exist. Yet to Alinor it did not matter, and she was sure that to Ian it did. He would equate yielding to him now with the possibility that she would yield to some other man for some equally specious reason in the future.

Nonetheless she was sorry for him. Her eyes dwelt fondly on him, and a half smile curved her lips as she watched him listening to some tale Sir Giles was telling. Briefly, Ian's eyes lifted, caught hers, moved back to Sir Giles. Alinor grew a little worried when Sir Giles turned away suddenly and then marched across the hall toward her.