Nothing Else Matters (20 page)

youths and maidens. Since she didn’t want to join in the dancing with anyone but her husband, she was standing next to a food-laden table keeping

Edythe company when Lars came up and spoke.

Nearby a bonfire blazed, the flames seemed to reach halfway to the star-laden sky. The ful moon shone brightly as wel . In fact the meadow was nearly as bright as day, glowing gold near the fire and frosted with silver moonlight. The earth was stil sun-warmed, fragrant with green grass and the flowers crushed beneath flying feet.

Everyone was here, from the hal and the nearby vil ages. It was a laughing, singing, happy crowd, ful of ale and meat—and something more. Something

of the earth’s own fertile magic. Eleanor could feel it in the air, see it in bright eyes and openly hungry expressions. There was a glistening, pulsing fervor in the air, passing between men and women, growing with the promises of ever-bolder embraces.

It was a warm night, the fire roared with heat and everyone seemed stripped down to little more than bracceas and shifts, skirts hiked up for the dancing.

Everywhere there were glimpses of flesh, soft shoulders, jiggling breasts, hairy chests. Everyone, from the swineherd to the lady of the hal seemed

beautiful, seductive, wil ing. Eleanor wished Lord Roger had come to the fire festival or that Edythe had stayed steadfastly by his side. For Eleanor could see by her sister’s expression as she looked at Lars that Edythe was caught up mood of the night.

Eleanor could feel the pul of it herself every time she looked to Stian. She trembled when their eyes met over the fire, barely able to breathe from the longing that shook her. She wanted to go to him, lie down with him, here and now, in the field. Many another couples were straying off into the darkness after first linking hands and jumping through the fire. Now that she knew what he’d meant when he spoke of leaping the fire, she knew she’d wil ingly jump through it with him. But she could not leave Edythe’s side. Duty kept her staunchly on her side of the fire, acting the chaperone while her husband played the lute for other lovers on the opposite side of the blaze.

Stian wanted Eleanor to come to him. At first he thought the music might draw her for he knew he was a fair musician. He did not like playing before

others but he’d brought the lute to please her. The dancers loved it, praised him loudly when he added his playing to the drum and pipe played by two of the vil agers. Eleanor merely stood by her sister and sometimes looked at him. Oh she was al hot-eyed and panting, but her feet were unmoved by this

form of wooing. For a while the hungry look on her face was enough for him but it grew more frustrating than promising when nothing came of it. It became tempting to toss the lute into the fire just to see if that would move her, but that was something he could not do to the lute, never mind Eleanor.

Eventual y, it occurred to him that perhaps his wife’s being so steadfastly planted to her sister’s side had something to do with Lars. It seemed to him that perhaps he was doing more than acting the loyal guard for the Lady of Harelby. Oh he was loyal al right, Stian decided. A loyal cur sniffing eagerly around Edythe’s skirts. Stian found himself growling like a dog himself when he realized what was going on.

“Why don’t you find someone to bed?” he demanded as he marched up to his cousin.

Lars’ look was al innocent surprise. “What?”

Stian handed the lute to his wife and grabbed the arm of the swineherd who lingered by the food table. “Hulda would be happy to jump the fire with you.

Wouldn’t you, Hulda?” he asked as the girl looked at him in astonishment.

“Uh,” she answered, and jerked her thumb toward a tow-haired, buck-toothed youth nearby. “I’ve a husband now, if it please you, sir.”

Stian let her go. “Oh.” While Lars gave a loud laugh, he asked, “When?”

“On Beltane proper, sir. Father Hubert said you wouldn’t be wanting the bride night with me since you’d had plenty of nights with me already.”

The hurt look on Eleanor’s face was far worse than the sting from Lars’ amusement. “Go on.” He pushed Hulda away, toward her husband.

“Congratulations!” Lars cal ed after her.

Let his father mind his own wife’s chastity, he had his own life to deal with. Stian spared a glare for his cousin as he stepped to Eleanor’s side. “Are you hungry?” he asked her. “Thirsty? Wil you dance with me?”

Eleanor had already decided to bury the pinprick of hurt at Stian and the peasant girl’s conversation. When he asked her to dance, the pain of knowing he was no better than any other man dissipated completely. What matter if he’d tupped every woman in the countryside? That had al been before they’d met.

He was by her side now and he wanted her to dance.

“Gladly,” she told him, and handed the lute off to Edythe.

He took her hands and soon they were whirling around the fire, laughing and lost in each other just as any other couple at the fire festival. In fact, she was so consumed with Stian’s presence that she barely noticed when Edythe and Lars leaped, with hands entwined, through the fire.

“Wake up, lad, you’re going to York.”

Stian recognized the voice but he didn’t know where he was. At first, al he knew was that his head was resting on a woman’s soft, linen-covered bosom.

When he opened his eyes, he thought for a moment he was blind, but when he scraped his hand across his face, he found that his eyes had been covered

by a thick fal of black hair. Wonderful y soft, scented black hair.

“Eleanor,” he said, sighing as he remembered who he was with and what they’d done through most of the long night. He stil didn’t know quite where he

was, though he recognized the moisture covering him was most likely the morning dew. He was glad Eleanor had insisted they cover themselves before

lying down beneath a tree to sleep. Ah, so that’s where they were, beneath the tal oak on the north edge of the pasture.

“Lord Roger!” It was Eleanor who spoke before Stian could turn over and face his father. “Good morrow, my lord.”

As she spoke, Eleanor searched the face of the mounted man above her. He was looking cheerful and far better rested than she felt. Not a sign of anger or disappointment emanated from his smiling, relaxed demeanor. In fact, there was a bright twinkle to his eyes as he gazed benignly down on them. From this Eleanor decided her sister had made her way safely and chastely home. She sent up a swift prayer to the Holy Virgin for that and determined to have a firm talk with the lady of Harelby when next she saw her.

“Wel , lad, get up,” Roger said as his horse pawed the ground. “Or do you want Jupiter here stepping on your backside? Good morning, my dear,” he

added to Eleanor while Stian got to his feet. “You look as if you enjoyed last night’s celebration.”

Eleanor didn’t have the shame to blush, she grinned widely instead. “It was a passable affair, my lord,” she told her father-in-law. “Far different than the customs of Lady Day in Poitiers.”

“Perhaps you’l have the chance to compare the celebrations with old friends while you’re in York, my dear.”

Stian gave her a hand up as she said, “York, my lord?”

“What’s Eleanor going to do in York?” Stian asked, gazing questioningly up at his father.

“Visiting the merchants with my lady Edythe,” Roger answered. He pointed at Stian. “While you, my lad, attend our liege the Earl of Lincoln. As I recal , you’ve yet to swear fealty to him as heir to Harelby and Kirksted.”

Stian wanted to relieve himself, a flagon of ale and fresh clothes. He did not want to go to York to present himself to an earl as a good and loyal vassal.

The less association he had with the great men of the realm, the happier he’d be.

“You’re the one who likes courts,” he said to his father. “You go.”

Roger shook his head and touched the bandage that bulged beneath his clothing. “I can barely ride.”

“Hubert wil hear your confession for that lie,” Stian answered.

“And there’s the new building to oversee. I’ve a mind to keep an eye on the workmen tearing up my wal s. I’m sending you to York,” Roger said in a tone that brooked no argument.

Of course Stian argued anyway. “I’ve no business with the earl. You go if you want to sniff around the doings of the powerful. Besides, you know the man.

I’ve never met him.”

“It’s time you did.”

Stian took a firm stance, and with hands on hips prepared for a shouting match with his wrongheaded father. Then he saw Eleanor’s face.

“What?” he asked his wife as he absorbed al the excitement and hope in her eyes. “Oh no,” he complained. “Not you as wel ?”

“Go to York?” she said eagerly. “Be presented to an earl? Shop?”

Stian was not used to giving in graceful y. He didn’t want to now, but the hopeful look Eleanor turned on him was more than he could take. “York,” he said, and the word came out a grudging snarl. Eleanor nodded, grabbed his hands and bounced like a child yearning for a promised sweet. How dul she must

find life at Harelby. “Must we?” Stian asked.

“Please!”

He looked back at his father, who sat his horse with a look of smug satisfaction. “York. With messages and parleys and ceremonies as wel , I suppose?”

Roger nodded. “There’s a few things I need you to do. I’l instruct you before you go. Oh,” he added, as though it were an afterthought, “there’l be a tournament as wel . You might enjoy that.”

Stian grinned, suddenly ful of enthusiasm. Typical of his father to put the one thing that would entice him last. “A tourney, eh? I could use some new armor and horses.” He put his arm around his wife, clasping her tightly to his side. “Peace, mouse, we’re going. When do you want us to leave, Father?”

* * * * *

“If it weren’t for you, I’d be getting a sound night’s sleep,” Lars countered. “You snore like a bear.”

“That’s Ranald,” Stian told him, pointing at the squire curled up on a pal et by the tent flap. “I don’t snore.”

He sat up with his blanket pul ed around him. It was a cool night and raining besides. The tent kept them dry but the dampness in the air was

uncomfortable. The squire was snoring, so was the servant huddled next to him while the guards they’d brought patrol ed their watch in the rain. The tent wasn’t that large and it was ful of bodies, none of them the right one. He would have appreciated having Eleanor to cuddle with.

“No need to complain about me,” Lars said. “It’s not my fault your wife’s with Lady Edythe. Her duty’s to be with her lady.”

Stian thought Edythe had quite enough company what with Morwina, Blanche and a maidservant also accompanying the party. True, properly speaking,

Eleanor was chief lady-in-waiting to the mistress of Harelby, sleeping in Edythe’s tent was what she was supposed to do. Stian knew that it was indeed propriety that kept her constantly at her sister’s side, but it was Lady Edythe’s chastity that concerned her more than her comfort.

And that concern was Lars’ fault. Stian wished that either Edythe or Lars was back at Harelby. But Roger had insisted, to Edythe’s delight, that his wife enjoy the pleasures of the town. And Stian had wanted Lars for participation in the upcoming tournament, for the Dane was one of the finest fighters in al the Border country. So Eleanor spent her time with Edythe and he spent his time with Lars—just as they had al done as children before they’d ever met.

He could hardly wait until they reached their destination.

If Stian had had his way, he would have set his wife pil ion behind him on his horse and rode off without delay, paid homage to the earl and come straight home again. No journey with women was ever that easy, of course, and they’d been days longer than necessary on the road. They had carts and chests

and servants—and Eleanor had been brazen enough to look speculative when he sarcastical y suggested they bring along the cook and the midwife as

wel . Then she’d saucily told him they didn’t have a midwife but she’d do her best if the need arose. He’d been too annoyed at al the fuss to laugh at her comment until hours after she’d made it.

By the Rood, how he did enjoy her company, he thought now as he tried to get to sleep. If only he had her company, it would be much easier to find some rest on the thin pal et beneath him. His consolation was that come morning he would have her riding pil ion behind him again. She’d lean against him with her arms wrapped snugly around his waist and they’d ride at the head of the cavalcade, mostly in companionable silence throughout another long summer

day. With that pleasure to anticipate—even though the morrow would probably be as rainy as the night, making the traveling a long slog though churned

up mud—Stian final y drifted off to sleep.

* * * * *

Stian looked at the surcote in his hands then at his frowning wife. This was a question he’d never heard before so didn’t quite take her meaning. “These are my best clothes.”

“I know,” she said, easing the cloth out of his grip. “But you look absolutely awful in that shade of red.” She folded the surcote and stuffed it back in his traveling chest.

“I like red.” He looked around the tent seeking help but Eleanor and he were alone.

She was dressed in a richly embroidered black kirtle and red underdress, her hair covered by a modest veil. He had to admit that she looked every bit of what she was, a lady from a queen’s court. Beside her elegance, he looked every bit of what he was, a rude, back-country knight without a grain of polish or sophistication. Which was just what he liked to be.

About his only concession to the fact he was about to be presented to one of the country’s great magnates was that he’d let his servant shave him and

trim his hair and mustache. Eleanor had come in just as he’d sent the man away. She’d watched him start to dress for court with a disapproving eye. He noticed now that she’d brought a bundle of cloth with her.

She picked it up and unfolded it. What was revealed was a deep blue surcote, knee-length, with wide bands of gray and white embroidery on neck,