Alinor (32 page)

Alinor could only be grateful that she had held her tongue. It was plain from what Ian said that he was considering Joanna's happiness. Nonetheless, she had no intention of contracting her daughter until she was sure of Joanna's preference.

"Unfortunately," Alinor sighed, "a woman's heart is not always a reasonable thing. I am sure what you say about Geoffrey is true, but if he does not wake her heart and body, he might be a saint and as beautiful as the morning and still make Joanna bitterly unhappy."

Ian's expression froze. "I see," he said quietly.

"My God," Alinor cried, having fallen all unaware into the pit she thought she had avoided, "you do not think I mean me as well!" She smiled at him. "Did I seem cold to you last night?"

He had to laugh, even though doubt still clawed at him. One thing he knew, Alinor had not been unhappy in her first marriage. What could she know about the subject then, unless— Well, he guessed she had not welcomed this marriage. Perhaps she had been unhappy and then had come to terms with her fate. But if so, all the more should she realize that Joanna would also adjust. Women did adjust. Yes, but Ian knew very well that sometimes they did not adjust, and then they cast their eyes around and betrayed their husbands—and that did not make them happy, either. It was not impossible that Alinor was right.

"What am I to say to Salisbury? Do you wish to speak to him or shall I deny him outright?"

"Do not deny him."

Alinor had been thinking over the subject, and she began to come around a little to Ian's point of view. The boy was a dear. His connections were wide and mighty. If Joanna could be inclined in Geoffrey's direction, there could be few more excellent matches.

"You say Salisbury is desirous that Geoffrey should be happy," Alinor went on, "and that he asks for Joanna because he sees his son is inclined toward her. Well, tell him that I feel just so about my—our— daughter." She took Ian's hand. "Now that I have had a moment to think of it, I am aware that it was your thought for Joanna that made you wish to bind her to Geoffrey. And Joanna, although she has spirit enough, is not such a hellion as I. If she casts her eyes upon him, I will be very happy in the match. No, certainly do not deny Salisbury. Say to him only that there is no unhappiness equal to that of a husband who loves his wife when the wife does not return his affection."

Ian's jaw clenched just as if Alinor had incautiously probed a painful wound, but she did not notice. She was looking past him, thinking of Joanna and Geoffrey and their behavior toward each other that day they had been together in the keep. Alinor had not had the time to observe them since Ian had brought Geoffrey back with him, but from what she had seen herself she was sure that Salisbury was right when he said there was a liking between them. Alinor was one of the few who did not feel that was enough. She flicked a glance at Ian that took in the tumbled hair, the long lashes on down- cast eyes, the sensuous mouth, clear and fine in the black-stubbled face. A physical pang of that combination of lust and affection that is called love twisted her middle just below her heart.

There was underneath Joanna's apparently placid exterior a passion as hot as the child's red head, Alinor suspected. How could it fail to be so when she had it from both the mother's and the father's side. Alinor would not deny her daughter either the joy or the pain that came with love. But Joanna was malleable. If the love could be directed toward someone who would return it and be good to her, so much the better.

"Tell him also," Alinor continued, "that I will do what I can to fix Joanna's heart on Geoffrey so that both may be happy. But I will not countenance a contract for two reasons. The first is plain. If Joanna cannot love him, she must not marry him. The second is a little more subtle. I believe Joanna and Geoffrey do like each other. So, if the children know they are contracted, they may well plod along together in mild contentment. That is not enough. It is dangerous. If both do not burn for each other, there may come a time in the future when one, or both, will burn for someone else." Her eyes sought Ian's and did not find them. "Ian," she demanded, "look at me."

He raised his eyelids. The dark eyes were wary, guarded against hurt.

"You know, none knows better from what I have heard, what comes of such feelings. Do you want to see Joanna in the place of the women you have bedded?"

"Alinor! Joanna is no slut!"

"She is not now. Were those women sluts at nine? Before boredom or bitterness had eaten away their souls?"

"Do you blame me for their state?" Ian asked heatedly. "I assure you I picked no unripe fruit. What I had fell of itself into my hand."

"No," Alinor laughed, "no man is guilty for the face with which he was born."

She was glad of the turn the conversation had taken. Having said all she wanted to protect her daughter, Alinor wished to cozen Ian into happiness again. Something had hurt him. He looked tired suddenly, and he leaned back against the pillows on the bed with drooping shoulders. It was true he had spent such a night as might make a man weary in the morning, but there had been no sign of it until their discussion of wedded love began. It had been a mistake, although an unavoidable one, to bring his mind back to the woman he could not have. Alinor touched his nose with the tip of her finger.

"A face like yours might seduce a saint, but if it seduces anyone new—when I am by—it will look quite different after I find out."

"Where did you think I would find the strength for such a thing—when you were by?"

"I noted no feebleness in you, even after you had falsely cried 'enough.' Shame on you for disturbing my well-earned rest."

"Shame on me!" Ian exclaimed. "What did you expect?"

Alinor did not answer that except with a laugh of acknowledgment. Unaccustomed to the usages of the marriage bed, Ian had been wakened when Alinor pressed herself against him or threw a thigh and an arm across his body. He had responded as a lover instead of as a husband, rousing himself to caress Alinor into another coupling instead of merely accepting her embrace as a sleepy sign of contentment and affection. Alinor had not corrected him, partly because by the time she was sufficiently awake to explain, she had also been sufficiently roused to welcome his advances and partly because she judged, quite rightly, that he would have been hurt by her refusal. There would be plenty of opportunity to clear up the misunderstanding when they were both more secure in their relationship, if Ian did not come to understand without any explanation.

However, Alinor had accomplished her purpose. She did not know whether she had really driven his lost love out of his mind or merely turned his thoughts into pleasanter channels, but his expression had lightened. He pulled her close and kissed her, which gave Alinor the excuse she sought to change talk to action. She gave a brief, enthusiastic response and then pulled away.

"Hedgehog," she remarked. "Of course, I have never kissed a hedgehog, but I imagine it must feel like kissing you right now. Let the barber come in and shave you, Ian. And, oh heavens, look at the light. Surely we have missed both Masses."

Had this been Alinor's first marriage, the noble ladies and gentlemen would have come early to waken bride and groom and to display the bloodstained sheets that were evidence of the bride's virginity. Since this proof could hardly be expected from a woman who had been thirteen years married and had borne four children, the second part of the bedding ceremony had been dispensed with.

"Do you want me to bind that leg now, or will you be shaved first?" Alinor asked after having clapped her hands sharply to summon her maids.

"I can do without the binding," Ian assured her, releasing her a little reluctantly.

Alinor twitched aside the covers and burst out laughing. "I will put a lock and key on it," she teased. "How dare you cry lack of strength." But her eyes had already shifted to his knee, and she realized Ian had been speaking the truth. Even though the splint had been off all the previous day, there was almost no swelling and the discoloration seemed a little fainter. The knee was mending. Still laughing, she pulled the cover over him again and sent one of her maids off to summon his squires. "It would be too shocking for Gertrude and Ethelburga," she teased. "You are not decent. More- over, I would not wish them to think that you were so ill content with me that you have remained in that sad condition all night."

With that she fled from the room, leaving her husband half exasperated and half enchanted. One thing was certain. He was not likely to be bored even if he was pent in the keep alone with Alinor all winter. Doubtless she would find some deviltry to amuse him, but this was no morning for guessing games. It was all very well, he thought, easing himself out of the bed, to say she would send his squires to him. No doubt they would be useful in getting his clothes and armor on-provided he or they knew where his clothing and armor was. Ian certainly did not know. Alinor and her maids had been seeing to his needs for the past five days. All he knew was that perfectly exquisite raiment, most of which he had never seen before, appeared each time he needed to dress. The truth was that half the time he had been too cross to ask where the things had come from, and the other half he had had something more important to talk about.

As soon as Owain and Geoffrey arrived, Ian realized he should have known Alinor better than to suspect anything, including a wedding night, could divert her from practicality. Before he said a word, Owain found and presented the chamber pot. Ian laughed so hard he almost missed it. Lock and key indeed! Alinor had known well enough what his need was. In the next moment, seeing Geoffrey heading for the other chamber, he shouted for him to stop.

"Where are you going?"

"For your clothing, lord. Gertrude said to come to her for it."

"Oh, well, do not enter the chamber. Lady Alinor is dressing in there."

The boy blushed and hurried out. Ian raised an eyebrow. If Geoffrey was still as innocent as he seemed, he might need a little urging in the right direction. Owain helped his master into his bedrobe and then to a chair by the newly replenished fire. The barber entered on cue. Owain went to help Geoffrey with Ian's armor, which was heavy for the younger boy. By the time the barber's task was finished, Geoffrey was back. He slipped his master's feet into maroon chausses. Ian smiled at the feel of the cloth, a fine soft wool more fitting for an outer garment. Alinor obviously intended to impress the vassals and castellans. Even though he knew it, he whistled at the silk shirt that came next, and the undertunic. It matched the chausses, obviously cut from the same piece of cloth. He fingered the gem-set, embroidered neckband.

"This is ridiculous," he protested. "I will strangle myself if I try to lace up my hood."

"But there will be no fighting today. The hood will lie open, lord, and think how beautiful it will be." Geoffrey's voice was quivering with excitement.

Ian smiled at him and did not argue further. It was true enough. He was to be an image of grandeur today, not a working warlord. The hauberk, which was offered next, made Ian laugh again and jestingly hold up a hand to shield his eyes. It had been polished until it glittered like silver in the firelight. Every steel ring had been scoured and scrubbed and polished free of the rust and blood and dirt and grime that had accumulated in the weeks they had spent in the field.

"This is a piece of work," he praised. "I cannot think how many hours were spent over it. To whom do I offer thanks?"

"Lady Alinor, I suppose," Owain said, laughing. "She came and saw to it that it
was
well cleaned. Three times we had it back. If you mean whose fingers and nails scraped and scratched at every speck, we took it in turns, Geoff and I mostly, but Jamie helped, and even Beorn."

That brought Ian such a feeling of warmth that he was silenced. He had achieved what was to him a near heaven. Alinor's passionate attention to every detail of this magnificent costume was not only the mark of a good wife but showed that she did not intend to outshine him, which she could have done most subtly. It was, of course, his squires' duty to clean his armor, but whether or not Owain was joking about the thrice-returned mail, that duty had been carefully and lovingly performed. What was more, the love and pride the boys had for him shone in their faces this morning. To top all, that Jamie and Beorn should help with a task well beneath their stations, a thing Alinor would not have asked of them, displayed a heartfelt devotion. Because of what had befallen Ian before he came into Simon's hands, he needed love. Here it was being poured out on him, and for a little while his joy was such that he could not speak.

His attention was recalled by hearing Owain murmur to Geoffrey, "You do it. Your hands are lighter."

That might be true, Ian thought, realizing the boys had reached the point in dressing him of tying his cross garters, but Owain did not like to be scolded. It was a pleasure to see Geoffrey reach unhesitatingly for the scarlet laces, to see his eyes flick up briefly but trustfully as he warned, "Say if I hurt you, lord." Just right, Ian decided. He loves me, I him, and both of us love Joanna. Somehow Alinor must be brought round to see how valuable such a strong blood bond would be.

"Let me help you up, lord," Owain urged.

"Good God," Ian exclaimed as Geoffrey brought his surcoat, "all I need is a halo and I can be one of those painted images they use in the churches of the Holy Land."

The garment was magnificent, scarlet velvet, gold embroidered and set with—Ian lifted the border close so that he could see—pearls that, he would swear, had been added later. A notion dawned on him that made him purse his lips into a whistle again, but the sound never came, because at that moment Alinor swept into the room.

"Two halves make one whole," Ian said appreciatively, staring at her.

Alinor smiled at his quick comprehension. It had certainly been her intention to give the impression that they were mirror images of each other. Alinor's gown matched Ian's tunic and chausses; her tunic matched his gown. The embroidery on both sets of garments was the same pattern, and the row upon row of pearls that had been Ian's bride gift were bold sisters to those that glowed in the neckband and borders of Ian's garments.