Rose of Hope (34 page)

Whatever the reason, and though he raged anew at Renouf’s twisted cruelty and wished again the man were yet alive so he could kill him, he rejoiced in the virtue he found in her. ’Twould give him endless pleasure on their wedding night to approach her as the veriest virgin, to award her the gentle wooing rightfully due any fair maid.

Aye, he would wait until after their vows, when he could lay her, not on hard, cold ground, but on soft, fragrant linens in the comfort of their bower. There he would teach her the art of love as it should be taught to one who was unaware of its many and varied delights. She would never have reason to fear or despise
his
bed, or seek refuge from
his
embrace. Thus, so he vowed.

***

The slave Leda flitted like a shadow from tree to tree. Her hand tightly gripped a set of keys she had stolen long ago. She was returning, heart in her mouth, to the crypts, using as a diversion the emptying of the burh by the burhfolc.

The corners of her mouth turned down in derision. Let them return to their homes. They were naught! When Ruald held lordship of Wulfsinraed,
she
would be his lady, and those who treated her now with contempt would pay. She thought of her lover’s prowess in bed, and smiled as she remembered the promises he vowed. She glanced back at the hall as she hid from the patrolling sentry on the wall behind the thick bole of an apple tree. Aye, ’twould all be hers, and soon. She at last had information of great value to offer Ruald.

Her attempt, through seduction, to learn all she could from the hated Norman knight had failed, but her vigilant spying in other areas had at last reaped reward. ’Twas difficult at first, to stay clear of those set to watch her, but the events of recent days had worked in her favor. None watched her now, and she had but to return to the crypts and discover the fullness of the secret revealed to her earlier this morn, when she had followed the Norman and his whore.

Almost, the dark knight had caught her watching. But she had hidden inside the crypts, where no light fell, to escape his sharp eyes.

Though it frightened her to return alone into that dark place of death, she summoned her courage. Ruald would reward her handsomely for the knowledge she would bring. Looking around, she saw none who paid her attention. When the sentry walked the opposite direction, she sidled the last few feet to the doors. ’Twas but the work of a moment to unlock them and glide inside, setting a rock in place to prevent them from closing entirely. If the guard happened to look, he would never notice the slight crack, nor detect from his height on the wall that the lock hung open on the hasp.

Once inside, she climbed with care down the steps ere stopping to light the torch she had hidden beneath her mantle. Her breath came a little easier when the firelight drove back the cloying darkness. Skipping past the dark openings on either side of the hall, she held her breath and kept her gaze ahead, especially as she passed where lay Renouf.

Slender fingertips reached for the mark of the cross on the wall of the last empty vault and depressed. It required three attempts to find the exact spot, but moments later she was inside the corridor. Here, the blackness was deeper, and it closed in upon her as if a living thing, though she held the torch high. Terror rose from where it lurked beneath the surface, cascading through mind and soul as she imagined the unseen
gástes
of the dead all about her, wrathful at her illicit invasion, reaching out invisible hands, seeking to offer her harm. Shuddering with horror, she closed her eyes and shrank against the dank wall. Her breath caught in her throat, and she felt as if hands wrapped it round and squeezed. She gagged, fighting panic, and the desire to flee like a terrified mouse back to the light.

Afterwards, she never remembered how the fight was won, but she mastered her terror. Licking dry lips, she lifted her head and forced herself to move into the depths of the passage. Some time later, she returned to the blessed light of the outer doors, gasping and trembling at her freedom. She had discovered the secret, not only of the door into the passage, but had fathomed that of the Madonna-door and the postern gate, as well.

Once again, she used her talents to flit unseen back to the hall. The other workers were so busy preparing for the upcoming wedding none even noticed her. The nobles looked through her. Racing up the stairs to her private place among the stored odds and ends in the top chamber of the southeast tower, where few but she ever went, she retrieved from its hiding place the wooden box containing the things Ruald had left. These items allowed her to send messages to others who were safe outside the burh.

Slowly, and with much labor, she drew on a scrap of vellum, using the strange symbols Ruald had taught her—not likenesses of words, he had said, but images that meant certain thoughts. She stored the keys and message materials, and returned the box to its hiding place. The note safely within her girdle, she moved through the hall, carrying a basket filled with clothing in need of a wash. Any who took notice would assume she was busy with one of a multitude of tasks.

Outside again, she wrapped her mantle close, raised the hood to screen her face, and mingled with the last of the burhfolc. Soon she reached the secret place where information was exchanged. Waiting until certain none had followed her, she opened the concealed aperture, and checked inside to find that a message awaited her.

She retrieved it, wrapped it her girdle, and replaced it with her own.

The timing was perfect, for the messenger came but twice a seven-day. This night was his next scheduled check, and he would find what she had left. Ruald would have her note within two days. She exulted in the knowledge. Soon Wulfsinraed and its riches would be hers forever. She smiled as she made her way back to the hall.

In her private place, she scanned the new missive. Glee filled her soul as it had done the day she had waited for her enemy’s execution, for it was short.

“Kill her.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

His curiosity piqued, Fallard followed Ysane through dense undergrowth and over fallen logs to a small glade within a rampant growth of trees.

She stopped at its edge. “This is a place of enchantment for me,” she said. “I found it long ago, as a small child. ’Twas on the day I first met Cynric. Were it not for him, I would have been meat for a wolf. I was but four summers, and had wandered from my parents. He tracked me, and discovered I played here for some time. My delay in this place allowed him to catch up with me in time to save me. Later, he brought me back here many times, and I would ask him to tell me again of that day. He was my hero, you see.” She smiled in remembrance. “In time, it became a retreat for when I wished to be solitary. I have missed coming here, for I dared only twice while Renouf lived. None but Cynric knows of it…and now, you.”

The look of candid trust she turned on him shook him. What had he done to earn her favor thus, but steal her home, force her to unwanted marriage and overthrow her life? Even as he slipped an arm round her waist, he fought the tender protectiveness that made him want to lock her somewhere utterly safe, forever secure, so she could share that look with no one else but him. As her husband, ’twould be his responsibility to offer her kindness and to protect her, but the ‘tender’ part! It grew rapidly and seemed to burst upon him in unexpected moments. Already once this day had he yielded to its lure. Worse, it mattered less each time.

She caught his hand that rested at her waist. “Come and see. I have always believed faeries dance here when the dusk of even comes down, though I have never stayed late enough to keep watch.”

He stepped through the trees around the glade. A strange, sweet calm befell him, as if he had tread through an invisible doorway into another place, far beyond the world, where peace ruled. It seemed to him even the ache in his leg eased. He felt himself smiling foolishly, without reason. Mayhap her words were true, for ’twas as if the little glade had indeed been sprinkled with faerie dust. Its primitive beauty was arresting. Encompassed by the lichen-encrusted trunks of ancient oak, yew, beech and scattered alders, it lay in sunny splendor. He might have stepped back into the depths of time.

He heard the water ere he saw it. Hidden on the far side of the glade within a tiny copse of alder and drooping willows, it gushed forth from an underground spring to froth over a low fall of rock into a dark pool. He cupped his hand beneath the fall and almost yelped at its icy touch, but when he drank, the taste was pure and refreshing.

’Twas a shadowed spot, and cool, for the sun’s rays would touch upon it only at noontide. A spray-dampened rock, flat as a table, and large enough for one to sit comfortably—or two to cuddle close—nestled beside the falls as if set there by a giant hand. The water in the pool flowed into a streamlet that hurried away, seeming to laugh in joy, beyond his sight. Around the pool, swathes of new grass vied with patches of moss and infant fern in displays of lush green varying from light to dark. No weeds grew here, no vetch, nor brambles or briars.

The place is spellbinding. I understand why it draws her.

He silently laughed at his fancy.

Ysane curled up on the flat rock by the little falls, her chin resting on upraised knees around which her arms were clasped. Her eyes focused on the pool. An expression of utter bliss erased the lines on her face, marks wrought by grief and care.

He watched her in silence, wondering at her thoughts. Abruptly, he felt left out, shunted aside, as if she had withdrawn to some secret place. He liked not the feeling, and started to speak, but she looked up and smiled. ’Twas the loveliest smile he had ever seen, and it enchanted him more surely than the glade.

She scooted over on the rock and held out her hand, inviting him to join her.

He wasted no time accepting her offer. The rock was hard, the occasional splash of spray from the falls cold, and there was barely room for the two of them upon it. He minded none of it. He drew her to his side. She snuggled close to rest her head on his shoulder as if ’twas the most natural thing in the world. Though the light was dim within the copse, he felt the magic around them grow, almost as if ‘twere visible to the eye.

“I came here as often as I could,” she said. “I would sit on this rock and dream of beautiful princesses and wonderful halls, and the things I read in my father’s books about faraway lands.”

“And did you ever daydream of a knight who would steal away your heart?”

He blinked at his own question, startled all over again that he would think such, much less speak it. He was no poet, nor was sentiment high in his view of life. Yet, his rose was inspiration for many new thoughts and frivolous ideas such as the more romance-minded of his men betimes espoused around the fires at night. Never had he indulged in fatuous fantasies, nor could he think why ’twas happening now.

He was not unaware females enjoyed such nonsense. ’Twas rather he had never met one he deemed worth the effort of wooing. ’Twas far more convenient to find a willing wench and when both of them were satisfied, kiss her farewell and be on his way. But with Ysane, he would promise aught to gain from her a smile.

“’Tis possible knights might have figured in my dreams, now and anon.” She blushed crimson and ducked her head. “But if they did, none compared with…reality.”

My rose deems me of more value than her dream knights!

He suddenly felt taller than the hills in the far distance, as mighty and invincible as the warrior-gods of the ancient lays. ’Twas too bad there were no more dragons, for he would slay them all with a single thrust of his sword, impervious to their fire, and lay their heads before her feet. ’Twas all he could do not to kiss her until she surrendered to him, body, mind and heart.

Ah, I do want her love, fool that I am!

She drew a sharp breath as if she sensed the change in him. “We are to be wed on the day after the morrow.” She sounded winded, as if she had run some distance. Her next words were spoken so quietly he barely heard them above the falls. “Would you think it shameless, my brave knight, or too brazen of me did I ask for but one kiss?”

His heart slammed in his chest. He shut his eyes, fearing she might flee in terror. He knew raw passion blazed within his look.

She placed her palm against his chest. “You are so warm, and your heart thunders. It calls to me.”

He needed no more encouragement. He swooped, and she flowed into his embrace. In that moment, he knew himself for what he was, a cynical warrior with hard, unrefined edges, and he saw her as his wounded, hurting lady. But he vowed, despite his ignorance, to do his best to care for her.

Lost with her in the magic, he wandered for timeless ages—or mayhap, ’twas only moments—in a world of shared glory.

***

Ysane’s eyes flew open as a loud, extended growl broke into their sensual world.

Fallard started to laugh against her mouth, his chest heaving beneath her palm.

She brought her hand to her stomach.

Oh, how embarrassing!

She should have broken her fast ere leaving the hall, but Fallard had given her no time. Her hunger made itself known with yet another rolling rumble.

He chuckled. “Poor little rose, I have starved you. I cannot allow such neglect to continue.” He released her, but slowly, and rose to his feet. “Wait but a moment, my lady.”

She sat back, the heels of her palms resting on either side of her hips. He left the copse to walk to where the tethered horses waited, their tails switching in lazy flicks at imagined flies, and returned with a blanket and the basket with their meal. She was glad to see he limped not at all.

While he spread the blanket upon the grassy verge of the pond, she rummaged among the food. “Alewyn has packed a feast for us.” She unwrapped one delicious item after another. “There is enough here to feed a score, and all of them warriors.”