Daughters Of The Storm (41 page)

‘I am full of happiness, Wengest,' she said. ‘But I had my head on my knees thinking.' She frowned a little ... prettily she hoped. ‘I have things on my mind.'

A silence. Then she continued, in a low voice, ‘Do you want to know what's on my mind?'

Wengest shifted so he was looking at her face-on. ‘Yes. Tell me.'

Her heart sped up, as it always did when she crossed the first line of a man's defences. ‘You,' she said, on a hot breath.

Feeling the first bite of the fire, he dropped his gaze and shook his head. ‘And why would I be on your mind, Ivy?'

Careful now, Ivy, don't go too far.
‘Because you are gracious and kind and handsome. And I think my sister is very lucky to call you her own. I should consider myself very lucky, if I were she. And I should do whatever I could to
please
you.'

Wengest glanced at her again and Ivy saw desire in his eyes. But his reason overrode it, and he said nothing.

Ivy was about to push a bit harder against his resistance, when a loud shout broke the afternoon quiet. Rowan barrelled through the open gate and threw herself at Wengest.

‘Raaaar!' she shouted. She brandished a wooden plate in one hand and a stick in the other.

Wengest laughed and caught her around the waist. ‘Slow down, slow down, soldier.'

‘I'm not a soldier. I'm a warrior queen. Like Bluebell.'

Wengest's laughter immediately dried up. ‘Ah, I see. Well, warrior queens don't tend to make friends easily, and they almost never marry. So perhaps you should play with your poppets instead.' He gave her head a rub. ‘Go on, off with you. Ivy will take you back to the kitchen.'

Ivy suppressed a sigh, and stood up to take Rowan's hand. As they left, she glanced back over her shoulder at Wengest, who sat on the grass watching them. She recognised the look in his eyes and she swayed her hips a little in response. Sighere had called her a pain in the arse, Heath had said she was barely a woman. Well, neither of them were kings. Wengest was, and he wanted her. She knew it.

Ivy didn't see Wengest for two days after that, and she often found herself wondering whether he was avoiding her on purpose. Tupping a servant girl was one thing, but climbing aboard one's sister-in-law was quite another; perhaps he thought it easier to be blind to her rather than battle his conscience. She tried to get on, keeping busy with Rowan, but the longer she went without seeing him, the more convinced she became that she had to have him. Lying in bed those two nights, she imagined him sliding his rough hand under her shift to close over her breast, pressing his hot tongue into her mouth. She would tingle from her toes to her navel with the thoughts, while Rowan slept unknowingly next to her.

Then on the third night, late, when she should have been sleeping, she found herself hanging about by the door of her bower, gazing at Wengest's bower across the way. There was light flickering under the shutter. He was awake. But would she be welcome? No, she was being a fool. He was avoiding her for a reason. She wanted to stamp her feet. Why should Rose be the lucky one who got to marry the king of Netelchester? Of course she would have been too young a few years ago, but now she was marrying age. Queen Ivy. It sounded divine.

Footsteps caught her attention. The serving girl came into view, making her way down from the kitchen quarters. Ivy's heart started; she was about to duck inside, then changed her mind.

Instead, she stepped out and hailed the serving girl with a raised palm. Her heart sped a little with fear and excitement.

‘Princess Ivy?'

‘I expect you're going to visit the king? To lie with him?'

The girl gulped. ‘I ... no ... no, of course not. I mean ...'

‘Go away. He is married to my sister, and I won't have a piece of rubbish like you soiling her husband's reputation. Leave
now, or I'll tell Rose, and she'll put you and your family out of Folcenham.'

The girl put her hand over her mouth to suppress a sob and turned on her heel and ran. Ivy waited until she was out of sight before turning back to Wengest's bower and, with determination, striding towards the door.

As she pushed it in, she heard him say, ‘Edlyn?' So the serving girl had a name and he'd bothered to learn it. He rose in her estimation.

‘My lord,' she answered, emerging into his sight and closing the door behind her. His bower was richly decorated with tapestries and furs, lit by two tallow candles that smoked greasily. The candlelight glinted dimly off golden cups and ornaments that were mounted on the wall or placed on the dresser and table. Coals in the hearthpit glowed low and warm. In the middle of this sat Wengest, wearing only his undershirt and an expression of surprise.

‘I sent her home,' Ivy said, as though it explained everything.

‘You won't tell Rose?'

Ivy almost laughed. He was worried his infidelities had been discovered. She shook her head. ‘I didn't come here to spy on you. I came here to give you what you need.' She untied the front of her shift and pulled it off her shoulders, so her breasts were free.

‘No, no, no, Ivy,' he said, gathering the blankets around him. ‘You don't understand.'

‘Help me understand, then,' she said, knowing she was glorious half-naked in the firelight.

‘I don't ... I wouldn't ... Edlyn and I, we don't ... I can't risk a royal bastard. You understand?'

Ivy struggled to comprehend. ‘Then what ...?'

‘She pleasures me. While Rose is away. I'm a man and I'm full of desire, but she ...' He indicated his groin. ‘... you know.'

And now Ivy was back on firm ground, because she understood ‘you know' as only a young woman could.

She sank to her knees next to the bed. ‘Then let me do that for you. I'm longing for it.'

‘Ivy, you're Rose's sister.'

‘Rose isn't here. I am.' She climbed up on the bed and dropped her breasts in his face. A moment later the back of his knuckles was grazing her nipples. ‘Ah, yes, you know you want to.'

She wriggled her way down his body, lifting his nightshirt slowly to reveal two hard hairy white thighs, and then a cock the size of which she had never seen before. It looked angry, red, surrounded by wiry hair. She almost fainted with desire.

‘Ivy,' he said, half a protest, half a gasp of pleasure as she fastened onto him with her mouth. To her bafflement, he leaned over and extinguished both lights — William always wanted to watch. Wengest groaned like an animal, and Ivy was warm with pride and vanity. The second-most powerful man in Thyrsland, spilling his seed in her mouth. Why, that made her practically the most powerful woman in the land, and all without lifting a sword.

Not a real one, in any case.

Afterwards, she snuggled up under his arm, and he seemed happy to stroke her hair in the dark and kiss her cheek, though he assiduously avoided kissing her mouth. Just as she was drifting to sleep, he spoke, his voice booming after the long silence.

‘Ivy, you must never, ever tell Rose.'

She roused herself and sat up. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she could see his face contoured by grey hues. His dark brows were drawn down low. He looked so very serious that she experienced a pang of fear. ‘Oh, no. Of course not.'

He lifted his hands to cover his face and sighed deeply, a sound so desperate it took her breath away. ‘What have I done?' he said.

‘Nothing. You've done nothing bad,' Ivy said, stroking his arm. ‘We're having a little fun, that's all.'

‘You're Rose's sister.'

‘It's nothing.'

‘I love my wife, Ivy.'

‘I know, I know,' she said, twinging with jealousy all the same. ‘But she's not here. And I'll never tell.'

He sighed again and Ivy grew impatient. He'd been taking his pleasure elsewhere a long time, if Nurse's observations were anything to go by. And it wasn't as though Rose was pining for Wengest. ‘Listen,' she said, ‘I'll tell you something funny, and I know it will make you feel better.'

He uncovered his face and fixed his gaze on her. ‘Go on, then.'

She smiled, absolutely sure she was doing exactly the right thing. ‘Rose has a lover, too!' She giggled, waiting for Wengest to laugh too. With relief. It was a joke, after all: both of them, getting on elsewhere then feeling guilty and furtive about it.

A vacuum of silence followed her laughter, however, slowly icing over her veins.

‘She has a lover?'

‘Yes,' Ivy said. ‘Well, I think so, I mean ...'

He sat up. ‘Who is it?'

Frightened now, Ivy became guarded. ‘I don't know his name. I don't know him. I don't really know anything.'

‘Then why do you say she has a lover?'

‘I saw them together.' Her pulse hammered in her throat.

‘You saw them ...' Words stopped up in his mouth. ‘Maava and all his angels, how long has it been going on?' He ran a hand through his hair. ‘Is Rowan even mine?'

‘Of course she is,' Ivy said in a rush, desperate to undo the damage. A joke? Was she mad? ‘She looks exactly like you. And I'm sure it was only the one time.'

Wengest gently pushed her off the bed. ‘Go,' he said to Ivy. ‘Forget what happened here tonight.'

‘Only if you forget what I told you,' she said.

He shook his head. ‘Go. You are far too young to know what you're doing.'

Ivy laced her clothes and cast one desperate glance back to Wengest on the bed. ‘She loves you. You ought not —'

‘I said
go
.'

Ivy bit her lip hard to stop herself from crying. Then the door was swinging shut behind her, and she was outside in the cold evening air, wondering what she had done.

‘Put the sword down, Bluebell,' Ash said, her hand on her sister's iron forearm. The slight man stood silent and unyielding in front of them in the dim, cold inn room.

‘No. Not until he says who he is and why he's been following us.'

Rose agreed. ‘We know nothing about him, Ash, let Bluebell handle this.'

But Ash
did
know something about him. She knew he wouldn't hurt them, she knew he was important to her somehow, she knew he was growing impatient with Bluebell.

‘I won't speak until the weapon is sheathed,' he said, in a soft voice that belied the steel in his good eye.

And I won't put away the Widowsmith until you speak,' Bluebell countered. ‘Come on, fucker. Why were you following us?'

He sealed his lips together, looking almost like a child refusing to tell. Ash could have laughed, only she was so annoyed with Bluebell that the corners of her lips wouldn't lift. ‘Please, sister, you must trust me,' she said. ‘He won't harm us, I feel it strongly.'

Bluebell turned her gaze to Ash. ‘I feel strongly the opposite,' she said.

A thrill of ice passed through Ash, gone before she could make sense of it. ‘Let him go. Trust me.'

Bluebell hesitated. Ash studied the man more closely. He was older than her by ten or fifteen years, clean-shaven, with hair thinning on his temples, and small pale hands. His bad eye was permanently fixed to the right. If he was afraid of Bluebell, he didn't show it.

‘Please,' Ash said, rubbing Bluebell's forearm. ‘Please.'

Reluctantly, Bluebell sheathed her sword and sat back. Ash saw the man's shoulders untighten slightly. So he had been afraid, after all.

‘What is your name?' Rose asked.

‘Unweder,' he said, confirming Ash's premonition.

‘I am Ash,' she said. ‘These are my sisters Bluebell and Rose.'

He nodded at them in turn, but soon returned his gaze to Ash. He offered no more words, but Ash sensed he was willing to speak if she asked the right questions.

‘Have you been following us?' she asked.

‘I've been following
you
,' he replied, and a jolt of heat went to Ash's heart.

‘Why?'

‘Because you make me curious.'

‘Why do I make you curious?'

He raised one eyebrow, and Ash wondered coldly if he knew about her Becoming, as Yldra had.

‘I'm curious because you don't know what you are,' Unweder said.

‘And what am I?'

‘An undermagician.'

Rose and Bluebell exchanged glances.

‘No, I am a counsellor in the common faith.' She held the edge of her green cloak up, as if to provide the evidence.

‘Then you have ignored the wishes of the Great Mother because, I assure you, you were born for undermagic.'

Ash's heart squeezed hard against her ribs. His words fell on her like sheeting rain on parched earth: soaking in quickly, but threatening to flood. Of course, it was true. And yet she had ignored it for so long. Those long years in Thriddastowe, pretending to be less than the elders, when all along she knew a fire grew inside her that could burn the study halls down. Unweder's words were both liberating and terrifying.