Rose of Hope (29 page)

***

The hall was more crowded for sup than Ysane could remember. Between her people, the stewards and their complements and the off-duty troops of Sir Gyffard and Sir Aalot, there was barely room for the serving maids and lads to move about. Alewyn and Alyce were run ragged trying to keep up with demands. Everyone, inside the hall and without, waited for the scouts to return to give word the rebels were truly departed and ’twas safe to go home. In the meantime, a small celebration would settle nerves.

At one point ere sup, Ethelmar had confessed for her ears alone to an unseemly eagerness to run far away and hide until ’twas over. She threatened to boil him in rosewater did he try. The comical grimace on his face was the last she had seen of him.

The hall’s youngsters mingled freely with the children of the stewards and the squires, Fauques and Roul among them, who were granted temporary release from service to make merry. From what she could see, they were having a fine time. When she would have called a servant to remove what she thought was a smuggled jug of mead at their table, Fallard, seeing her frown and where she looked, placed a hand on her arm and shook his head.

Almost shouting to be heard over the din, he said, “Let them enjoy it. I have it on good authority the mead is watered.”

She leaned close to Fallard’s ear to make herself heard. “Have we enough sleeping space in the garrison for all these men, Fallard?”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “What says Ethelmar about the problem?”

“He shrugged and said, ‘most will end up draped over each other on the floor, so it matters not’. But I would have them sleep in comfort.”

Fallard’s grin reached his mouth. “Worry not. In their sotted minds, they will dream they rest on soft mattresses with a warm maid in their arms.”

A blush heated her cheeks and she grimaced, picking at the honey-glazed beef, her appetite dampened. The noise level alone was enough to give one an aching head, but someone had ordered every torch and light in the hall lit, plus the extra candles, and the fire pits were roaring with blazes that leaped halfway to the ceiling. More than one person sitting at the nearer tables had found themselves batting at sparks that settled in clothing or worse, in hair.

With all the extra people in the room, the heat was becoming unbearable. ’Twas difficult to breathe, much less see in the dense haze.

She jumped when Fallard pushed back her headrail. The firm texture of his lips ran a caress over the rim of her ear. “Shall I order the windows opened?”

The husky timbre in his deep tones played havoc with her already heightened nerves. Little shocks skittered all over her skin. ’Twas all she could do to keep her own voice steady. “Aye, else I fear we shall all suffocate.”

His low chuckle revealed he knew well enough what his touch had done to her. He snared a boy returning from the kitchen with yet another dish, and gave the order. Soon, cool night air flowed through the windows as shutters were opened and tapestries lifted aside, dispersing the worst of the smoke.

Fallard had turned to speak with Thegn Noll, upon whom he had bestowed the honor of sitting at his right hand. Ysane waited for a momentary lull in their conversation and then placed a hand lightly on his arm to capture his attention. Startled, she drew back her hand, for even through the cloth of his tunic, the flesh beneath her fingers burned with heat and little tremors ran through the muscled flesh.

He turned to her and she gasped, able to see him better now the hall was clearer. The dark gaze directed at her glittered with more than candlelight, and his cheeks bore a blush roses would envy.

“You are ill,” she whispered. “Why said you naught?”

“And have everyone from here to London learn the new lord of Wulfsinraed is so weak the smallest wound prevents him from celebrating a victory with his people?”

“That is foolishness, my lord. There is naught of weakness in dealing with fever. Your wound, small though it may be, may grow putrid if not treated. Please, allow me to return with you to our quarters. Luilda must see to you, lest worse than fever befall you.”

The lines of his face tightened and granite edged his voice. “This discussion is over. I will leave not this table until the proper time.”

“We shall see about that,” she shot back. Ere he could stop her, she called to his First, who shared his plate with Roana. “Trifine, I would speak with you, if you please.”

Moments later, Trifine bent between them to better hear her words, but Fallard caught his arm.

“’Tis naught, Trifine. Return to your seat.”

Trifine’s eyes darted from one to the other. “What goes, if I may be so bold as to ask?”

His lady and his captain spoke at the same time.

“My lord is ill and refuses to retire so he might be treated and rest.”

“My lady makes a war out of a skirmish, and against my command, I might add.”

Trifine laughed.

Fallard’s expression darkened.

Ysane stiffened. “I fail to see the humor of this situation.”

“As do I,” Fallard said.

“Ah, but ’tis one most common,” Trifine said, with more cheer than tact. “But one not oft found among lovers.”

Fallard snorted.

Ysane humphed. “You make no sense, Trifine. I seek aid in getting your captain to bed. Instead, you play the jester.”

“But see you not?” Mastering his mirth, Trifine put the question to them both. “You are not yet wed, but already you behave as husband and wife. ’Tis a scene most encouraging to this knight, for it augurs well for your future together.”

Fallard turned away, muttering about fools masquerading as Firsts. He gave his attention to Thegn Noll, ignoring them.

Ysane lifted her chin. “Will you, or nil you aid in getting Fallard to his bed?”

Trifine shivered. “Hear now, lady. Your tone may freeze me solid, and where then will you be?”

Her shoulders slumped and she dropped the attempt at hauteur. “Trifine, please! He is ill.”

“My lady, forgive me. I should have spoken sooner. I am aware of the captain’s…indisposition. Please believe ’tis not so serious as you suppose. Ere he came to sup, the healer cleaned his wound and packed it with a healing poultice. She also gave him a potion to aid in fighting the fever. He knows he must rest, but ’tis also his responsibility as lord to host this eve’s festivities. When ’tis time, he will excuse himself and go to his bed.”

Her ire notched even higher with the explanation. “And why did no one speak of this when ’twas first mentioned? ’Twould have saved us this entire ridiculous conversation.”

The twinkle increased in the First’s eyes. “Ah, but then what mirth I would have missed!” He grinned at her thunderous expression. “Be at ease, my lady. I but tease. In truth, the captain’s slight was not deliberate. You must understand. He has long been a commander. He states his position, ’tis accepted. He issues an order, ’tis instantly obeyed. He lies under no compulsion to explain himself—except mayhap, to the king. You will soon be his wife, and for the nonce, he sees you in much the same light he sees us all, as one who requires his leadership, and who must obey without question at all times. ’Tis after all, no more than is expected of women, and especially wives, as you know.

“He is not a hard man. But unlike myself,” and Trifine winked outrageously, his ice blue eyes sparkling, “he has not experience with how easily a woman’s gentle humors might be bruised. Give him time, my lady. He will learn,” and here he grinned again, “eventually, how best to deal with you so both are content.”

Ere Ysane could respond, Fallard interrupted. “If you are quite finished playing the sage with
my
woman, Trifine, you may return to your seat.”

Eyebrow hiking, Trifine looked Fallard straight in the eye. “Jealousy becomes you not, my captain, but since my
own
lady eagerly awaits the return of my company,” and he nodded to Roana, whose golden gaze watched them all, “I gladly heed your command.”

***

Fallard narrowed his eyes, but said naught further. In truth, he was feeling much worse than he would admit. His head pounded and his thigh ached abominably, but he would fall face first into the food on his plate ere he allowed a woman to dictate his actions. He was lord of this burh, and she must learn to accept that fact.

To signal his displeasure, he ignored Ysane as the meal progressed, but soon realized his betrothed failed to notice. She conversed with Lady Benigna, who lived with her husband, Thegn Marcel at Atheldun Manor, a small but important fief a few leagues to the north on the border with East Anglia. The slight lowering of his brows and tightening of his lips at Ysane’s inattention would have sent most of his knights running for cover. But she, blithely unaware of the lesson he sought to teach her, chattered on with Lady Benigna.

Are all women as contrary as this one?

He thought of his mother’s quiet obedience, and then glancing at Roana, laughing softly at some witticism of his First, he decided both those gentlewomen were more proper examples of seemly behavior than Ysane. ’Twas the only thing he had learned of his betrothed he wished to change. She was most stubborn, and seemed incapable of bowing gently to his will, as was a woman’s place.

He would be easy with her, for now. ’Twas not his desire to daunt her with stern demands, for he remembered well her earlier declaration that no man would again rule her. She would hardly have learned from Renouf how to properly respond to a husband. Then too, her mother had died when she was quite young and thus was she deprived of the benefit of that fair lady’s teaching.

Mayhap, he would speak with Lady Roana. She was widowed, and some twelvemonths older than Ysane. Mayhap, her experience of life had bestowed greater wisdom than Ysane had yet acquired. He sat back in his chair and nodded to himself. Aye, he would have Lady Roana advise Ysane on her proper role as his wife. His betrothed was not dull-witted. As soon as she realized her deficiency in this area, she would immediately seek to remedy the flaw.

Satisfied the problem was all but resolved, Fallard turned to Ysane with a smile. He would now demonstrate he could be magnanimous to her fault. He was also quite ready to admit ’twas time for them both to retire. He wanted Ysane to seek out Luilda and obtain something to ease the ache in his head.

“My lady, we shall retire now,” he announced, still smiling, breaking into her chatter with Lady Benigna and Lady Yvette, wife to Lord Alphonse of Thyrruck Burh, who sat across from her.

Mischief cavorted in the moss green gaze as Ysane smiled into his eyes. “Certainly, my lord. Methinks ’twill do much good to rest your leg. Good eve to you.”

Mayhap if by this time, Fallard had not felt as if some wicked imp had stolen all his strength, he might have put up more of a fight. As it was, he decided this one small battle was worth not the cost of winning. There would be future battles he
would
win—when he felt up to fighting them.

Giving over host duties to Noll, he took his leave.

“My lord, will you slow your pace?”

He stopped, surprised to realize Ysane had trotted up behind him.

She grabbed his elbow. “You go the wrong direction, sir.”

Fallard stared down at her. “What say you? My pallet lies in the northeast tower. Besides, intended you not to keep further company with the ladies?”

“They will do well without me, my lord, and your bed, as you should know by now, is in the lord’s tower. I will accompany you there and see to your comfort, then I will retire to Roana’s chamber.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. Even his lips curved. Mayhap, she had not so much to learn as he thought, despite her little jest.

He set his arm about her shoulders and leaned on her more than was needful, and allowed her to walk him to the stairs. Once they reached the bower, Ysane made to slip from beneath his arm, but his hold tightened. Gathering her against him, he raised his hand to her headrail, and removed the circlet that held it in place.

“My lord, what do you do? ’Tis not seemly.” Her voice came to him as a squeak.

“Why would that be?” His voice was at its most persuasive as the sheer headrail slipped to the floor. “We are almost married.”

“‘Almost’ is not the same as wed. Now that you are better, ’tis unseemly enough I have accompanied you here. You must know I can stay not. I must return downstairs, and quickly, lest our guests wonder at our delay.”

Fallard chuckled, marveling at how the candlelight mingled in bronze reflection with the moss green of her eyes, and picked out glowing highlights in her hair. “My sweet rose,” he whispered as he nestled her even closer. He breathed in her sweet scent. “Our guests will wonder not. They will know precisely what causes our ‘delay’, and they will be pleased for us.”

So saying, he captured her lips in a heady kiss. Slow, long and thorough, it smashed through barriers and plundered depths he knew she thought safe from onslaught. When he lifted his head, so lost was she to the splendor of his touch she could but stare back at him in amaze. She was not even yet aware he had removed the pins from her hair so it cascaded about her shoulders, or that he delighted in filling his hands with the luxurious riot. Gently he set her head to his chest. She lay trusting against him, her arms round his waist. He smiled into eyes gone soft as the night, at lips red as the roses that would soon bloom in her garden.

’Tis fortunate my head throbs harder than before, for did I fare better, I might be less willing to let her go.

He lifted her face to place upon her mouth a kiss of tender manner.

“Aye, lady, we shall do well together,” he whispered into the delicate curve of her ear. “We shall do very well, indeed. Go. Find Luilda and send her to me with a headache potion.” He set her from him, despite the protest of his body. “I will see you in the morn, little rose, but ’twill be early, so sleep well. I have plans, and I would have you accompany me.”

His breath hissed as she licked her lips and nodded. “Aye, Fallard. I will send Luilda. I…look forward to our time together on the morrow.”