Rose of Hope (33 page)

“Thegn Fallard!” Alewyn laid aside her work. “All is ready, as you requested.” She stepped around a kitchen maid industriously chopping onions and carrots, and came to a small table. She smiled as she handed a basket covered by a linen square to Fallard.

“My thanks, Alewyn.”

“Aught for you and my lady. Go now, both of you and enjoy this lovely day.”

As they passed into the hall, Ysane grinned as the cook called to the spit boy to mind his business. Saw he not the lamb was crisping too quickly on one side?

Fallard handed her the basket. “Wait here. I will return ere you can miss me.”

He strode through the anteroom to the lord’s bower, reappearing as quickly as he had promised.

She frowned, for he had made one change to his apparel. He now wore his sword.

Ere she could comment on the weapon, he stopped in front of her. “Well, did you?”

She stared at him. “Did I what?”

His rare smile was back, and more filled with devilry than ever. “Did you miss me?”

Her scowl melted away and she ‘tsked’ at him ere breaking into a giggle. “Witless man. What think you?”

“Methinks you did. Methinks you cannot bear to be without me.”

“Witless
and
vain! Surely ’twould horrify William to hear of such ignoble traits in one of his boldest and most fearless knights.”

“Ah, but only for you, my love.” He bent to press a gentle kiss on her lips so quickly she had no time to pull away, even had she desired to do so.

He called me ‘my love’! Why would he say such? He loves me not. Does he? But how can he, when he but barely knows me? But then, I suppose I must ask the same question of myself.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Ysane felt like a salmon trying to swim upstream as Fallard helped her cut across the steady course of people intent on going home. Since she knew every one by name, it took more than twice as long as it should have to cross the courtyard, because many stopped to speak with her. Among them was the young wife who had recently given birth. The couple was eager to show off their new girl child, whom they had christened Ertha.

Ysane sniffed and her eyes blinked rapidly as she rocked the babe in her arms.

“You are brave, little rose,” Fallard said a few moments later as they approached the stable. “In the way of women, you also are a warrior.”

She smiled at him, though her lips trembled.

The stable was busy, for the king’s men prepared to ride patrol. Tuck met her at the door with Freyja, her dainty bay palfrey, and Foudre, Fallard’s silver-gray courser, already saddled and ready to ride. Handing Alewyn’s basket to Tuck, Fallard lifted her onto Freyja and helped her adjust her skirts. But ere mounting his own steed, he walked away. Surrounded as he was by busy men, she could see not what he did, but he returned quickly.

Basket tied securely to his pommel, he led the way out to join the diminishing crowd passing through the tunnel. “I spoke with Sir Aalot,” he said, as they guided their horses across the bridge. “If I see his men improve not their manners, I will deploy them on ceaseless patrols so they have strength to do naught but eat and sleep.”

“’Twill be a relief to my women, Fallard. I thank you.”

She glanced up as from atop the wall, first Varin, and then Domnall and Jehan called out and waved as they passed by. Domnall said something to Jehan that brought a shout of laughter from that one and they both looked straight at Fallard, still grinning. She could guess the gist of what had been said.

Fallard’s lips tightened and one eyebrow shot up. He scowled, commanding them wordlessly to mind their thoughts, but his action only drew further amusement.

She hid a smile. She liked having her honor defended, even if but with friends.

Moving onto the grassy verge, they trotted past the creeping column. They came to the bridge at village center and crossed, heedful of the children running free.

“The damage done here by the rebels fires my anger,” Fallard muttered, looking around. “But at least they burned not the village. The damage done is slight in comparison.”

“Aye, ’tis. Worry not, my lord. Naught of what was done will be hard to repair. The people will soon have it right again.”

They cleared the village and set a plodding, but steady pace along a narrow track that led across the south clearing and into the forest. Following the track beneath ash trees in full bloom and heavy growth oaks and beeches, their tops tangled together, the horses picked their way through tiny saplings new grown in the path or over small branches fallen in the way. The crackling crunch of long-dead leaves beneath lumbering hooves intermingled with the rustle of thick growths of new bracken fronds, curled up on their stems like bright green caterpillars. Though Fallard occasionally glanced behind to smile from midnight eyes, the quiet ride through the sun-dappled wood was broken only by scattered bird song and the soft sough of a fragrant breeze through the tops of the trees.

Her heart beat faster, for the track they followed led nigh to Cynric’s cottage. She determined to stop to search for sign of his return. They rode for some time ere she reined in beside a barely discernible track that went off at a tangent, angling toward the nearby lake. The path was so infrequently used, ’twas easy to miss.

“Fallard? If you will, this track leads to Cynric’s cottage. I wish to go there, if only to check that the cottage is in good repair for his return.”

His gaze was keen as he halted beside her. “I was heading for the lake, at any rate. This track seems to take us in that direction.”

“The front of his home faces the water, though ’tis set back among the trees.”

“Then we will go there. From what I have seen of the lake, one area of the shore is little different than any other for what I have in mind.” He gestured for her to precede him.

After another few minutes of riding, they reached the cottage. She expected to find it as empty as it had been the few times she had managed to slip away from the burh—one of which times she had been caught by Renouf and beaten for refusing to say where she had been—but was ecstatic to discover signs of recent habitation. Beside the door sat an old water barrel that had been empty the last time she had come. ’Twas now nigh to full. A recently tanned wolf’s hide hung drying upon a wooden frame. ’Twas very quiet.

“Fallard, he is home!” She stood in the stirrups to look all around. Her belly seemed filled with flutters and her heart grew lighter than in many a long month. She searched the area, hoping to see a tall figure. “Cynric, where are you? ’Tis Ysane.
Cynric!
”

Her calls echoed across the lake, but no answer came.

He caught at her reins. “Hush, Ysane! This silence disturbs me.”

She threw him a laughing glance ere she slipped off Freyja and ran to the cottage door. “There is no cause. ’Tis only Cynric.”

“Ysane, wait!”

He uttered an oath ere he dismounted to chase after her.

She reached the entrance, threw open the door and stood on the threshold, allowing her eyes to adjust.

He caught up and grabbed her arm ere she could enter, then shoved her behind him.

Startled, she looked at him. He was angry, and had unsheathed his sword. “What is it you do? Cynric is no threat. He is my dearest friend. Furthermore, he is my brother. Never would he hurt me.”

“Little fool, ’tis not Cynric I fear.” He growled the words, though by now ’twas plain no one was inside the hut. Pulling her in behind him, he walked to the fire pit and held his hand above the banked ashes. “The pit is warm, but not hot. It has been some hours since ’twas tended.”

“Fallard, I understand not. What is it you seek?”

“Has it occurred not to you, my lady, that ’tis little likely the current occupant is your friend? ’Tis more likely that ’tis one or more of the rebels, or thieves, in which case we would be in danger.”

She felt herself blanch, and her heart dropped into her toes. “Mercy! I thought not of such a thing.”

Nay, she had not, for she had seen in the signs of occupation only what she wanted to see, and that one thought had eclipsed all else. Fallard was right, though his truth was hurtful. Cynric had been gone for twelvemonths, though there were whispers among the servants that during that time, he had made brief appearances to meet with Renouf ere vanishing again. She had credited not the rumors as true, believing her brother would never come so nigh without finding a way to see her.

Fallard prowled the cabin, sword still in hand, poking into food and supply containers and peering into the chest and small wardrobe. “Whoever stays here now, I believe he has not been here long.”

He ran his hands over the carved woodwork of the few items of furniture.

She came to stand beside him, appreciating, as she always did, the workmanship. “Cynric does exquisite work, does he not?”

“Aye, and I would have him back as master carver, if that is his wish. But I fear he may be gone for good.”

The hurt of his words slashed like a cut from his sword.

He turned to look at her, then sheathed his blade and framed her face with his hands. “Of course, ’tis also possible I am mistaken. Cynric may indeed have come home. He may be hunting for the nonce. Mayhap, you will not believe this, but ’tis a fact I have been wrong, once or twice.”

She giggled, but two fat tears trickled to drip off her chin onto her bodice.

He groaned and wrapped his arms tightly about her, then kissed the tracks of those tears. He unwrapped her headrail, looping it round her waist and pushing the linen rope of her circlet inside his tunic. Then he kissed the soft hair at the top of her head. “Come, my rose. We should take our leave ere whoever lives here returns. If ’tis Cynric, he will know we were here, and he will find us, if that is his wish. If ’tis another, ’tis best they find us not at all.”

She sniffed, blotted her wet cheeks with her sleeve, and followed him to the door.

Hand on the hilt of his sword he waited, listening.

Birds sang and frolicked in the trees and insects buzzed, giving no indication they sensed aught beyond the presence of the two humans they had already deemed no threat. The horses grazed on the leaves of the lowest beech branches. Sunlight reflected off the waters of the lake, while the lapping of wavelets against the shore gave drowsy suggestion of lingering there for an after noontide nap.

“The birds sing again,” he said, but clearly, he was still not at ease. “’Twas my intention we would eat our nooning meal at the shore of the lake, but that does not now seem a safe prospect.”

“So, what do we do?”

He seemed at a loss. “Mayhap, we should return to the north side of the river and seek a cool glade to enjoy our meal.” He set her upon Freyja, then mounted Foudre. “The scouts reported no sign of rebel presence in that direction, though the few that came this way also reported naught. ’Tis clear they missed this cottage. I will have words with them this eve.”

“Fallard?” He turned at her hesitant query. “I know a place where we might go. ’Tis quiet and cool, and there is water, and soft grass and ferns where we might sit, though I cannot say ’tis any safer than here.”

He cocked his head, regarding her. “Show me this place. Mayhap, it will serve our need.”

***

Fallard allowed Ysane to pass him and take the lead. She touched her heels to Freyja’s flanks and headed back along the track that had brought them to the cottage. When they reached the main trail she turned left, riding back toward the burh, but then nigh immediately urged the horse into the undergrowth on the far side. She guided Freyja deeper into the dim light of the forest.

Fallard remained watchful behind her and his hand strayed not far from his sword. He could say not why, for there was no familiar niggle at his nape to warn him of watchers, but the disquiet that struck him so strongly at the cottage remained with him. A desire to grab Freyja’s reins and return Ysane to safety behind the wall was strong upon him, but his wish to give her a carefree interlude from the pressures and concerns of the burh kept him at her heels.

Mayhap, the tension he felt was due only to the finding of signs of life at the cottage. But nay, that was not full truth. He had sensed the unsettling touch ere then, but had dismissed it as an over-abundance of caution. He dismissed it not now, though it seemed to grow no worse as they wandered further into the depths of the wood.

Ysane came to an abrupt halt. He stopped beside her.

She pointed a little ahead. “There.”

His eyes searched her face, for there was that in her tone that spoke of a muted joy.

He aided her from the saddle, allowing her to slide into his arms. He kissed her again, but without hurry, coaxing a response that intensified as the embrace deepened. He shifted, and lifted her to better adjust her body to his height. Her palms rose to press against his chest, but in surrender. She seemed to go boneless. When he raised his head, her face had gone slack, but her eyes, nigh hidden beneath her lashes, gleamed with green fire.

He broke away as a tremor passed through him. The unprecedented emotions of tenderness and compassion that wracked his soul and left his thoughts perplexed, were escalating and converging to an unknown conclusion.

But they were not the only feelings he had for her. Never before had he wanted a woman with the potent craving he felt for Ysane. Her slightest touch to his skin, the graceful sway of her hips, the fragrance of rose combined with the heady scent of woman, and even the look of yearning unaware he sometimes surprised in her moss green eyes…all of these fired his blood to a fierce crescendo that left him scrambling to maintain his control.

Alone with her now, ’twould be easy to let desire fly free like a falcon. He sensed she would welcome his advances once he seduced her past the initial resistance that remained from Renouf’s crude carnality. Aye, he knew when a woman wanted him, and she was hungry, nay, starved for his touch.

But apart from the need to maintain a watchful vigil in the face of an undetermined threat, he coped with an unaccustomed reluctance to violate the sweet sense of innocence that clung to her. It begged understanding how he could perceive her as innocent considering the twelvemonths she had spent in Renouf’s bed, yet ’twas so. Mayhap, ’twas because she had experienced naught from her husband of caring, or even of simple consideration. ’Twas evident Renouf had never made effort to teach her pleasure, that the brute had offered her naught but pain and lust.