Rose of Hope (48 page)

Glancing around, he saw the hall had fallen silent and everyone grinned at him, even Wurth.

Incredibly, he blushed, the hot blood singeing his face. He could but hope his men would wonder not if being wed had made him soft. From his corner, Wurth launched into a song about a lovesick warrior besotted by a maid he could never have, ignoring Fallard’s scowl.

Trifine leaned over and said, “’Tis not so bad a thing, my captain. I admit I am as equally enchanted with my lovely Roana, and there are others here who are besotted with their ladies, as well. The men are content to see it in you, but now they know, you must make ready to bear their jests.”

Fallard frowned, but then shrugged. He would bear them, for he was sorry not to admit himself enamored of his wife, for already she satisfied him in ways he had never thought to consider. Aye, as a woman of rare grace and beauty, she played the role of lady of the hall with composure and wit, charming her guests. This he had originally desired from her. He also harbored no doubts she would bear him strong sons and lovely daughters.

But she was so much more than the sum of his prideful and selfish expectations. She was intelligent in her thoughts and wise in her decisions. He found, to his constant surprise, he enjoyed conversing with her. His equal in knowledge, he had yet to introduce a subject beyond her ken. He had discovered in her an ability to look beyond that which was obvious, to see from a perspective different than his own. In so doing, she aided his judgments in many ways.

She made him laugh and she had made him blush, and always she quickened within him a desire not only of the body, but of a depth of the heart no other could satisfy. He needed her, if his life and breath were ever to have meaning, or if life itself were to be worth the living. He had not before known how hollow his existence had been, now that she filled and completed him.

Under his eye, she took up a second piece of vellum and began to write, then she brought the page to him. “These are the words I wish written on the runestones for Angelet and my father.”

Fallard read what she had written, and nodded in approval. “The stones will be finished in time for the new moon.”

She slanted him a flirtatious glance, wished all in the hall a good eve, and took herself up the stairs.

A short time later he, too, bid good eve to all and rose to follow her, leaving the others to head for their beds at their leisure.

She was not in their bower when he arrived. Curious, he climbed to her sitting room, but finding that room dark, he moved to the doorway that led to the crosswalk. She stood on the wall, silhouetted against the moonlight, waiting for him. He ran back to the bower to retrieve his cloak and went to join her. The shadows that were the sentries patrolled to either side, but respectfully maintained their distance.

“’Tis so beautiful,” she said as he approached.

She stared across a landscape drenched in moonlight, black and silver, barren of the hues of life. Then a blackbird called, its chirping trill stretching to them across the silence of the night, and they were reminded the seeming emptiness was a false perception.

Fallard stepped close behind her. He slid one arm around her waist, the other about her shoulders and pulled her close, yet mindful of her bruises. She relaxed, seeming grateful to let him take her weight. He pulled aside the edge of her hood to find she had removed her headrail and loosened her braids for him, for he loved to play with her soft hair. Gently pulling a thick strand from beneath her mantle, he wrapped it loosely around his fingers and began to slide its length between them.

“Did you ever wonder, my love, about the stars in the heavens?” The warmth of his breath stirred the hair that lay along the curve of her ear. “Have you read the ancient stories of lands far away, or of the mysteries of life that have yet to be fathomed?”

***

Ysane trembled with joy at the simple feel of her husband’s embrace, at the rapture his touch evoked. She loved this man and almost, she told him so. But even as she thought to speak, the cruelty of another slithered in icy paths through her memory and for the nonce, she held her words.

She wished him to know. She would tell him soon, but not at this moment, for she still harbored uncertainty of
his
feelings. She feared that although he held some small care for her and called her his love, she was still little more than warmth in his bed and grace in his hall. From the beginning, he had failed not to advise her that was all he required of her.

So she waited, and sought to find words to answer his query.

“When I was very young,” she said, “’twas my belief the stars were tiny pieces of ice sprinkled about the sky. One of my fondest remembrances of my mother was the day she showed me snow is made up of individual flakes of innumerable number. We went outside on a day when the snow fell softly. She placed a cloth of black on the ground and we knelt beside it. I watched as the flakes showed clearly against the cloth and then I knew the stars were falling, for what else could the snowflakes be but the beautiful stars of ice brought down from heaven to earth? I feared that one day, so many stars would fall to the ground none would be left in the sky. My mother laughed, but ’twas many twelvemonths ere she convinced me my thoughts were in error. I was quite relieved, but also a little disappointed. I was so certain my belief was right, you see. ’Twas rather humbling to learn I could be so mistaken.”

Fallard chuckled at her rueful tone. “Methinks disappointment still lives within you concerning this.”

“Aye, it does. But then methinks, who knows in truth what the stars truly are? Of what material are they made and what is their size or their purpose, beyond that of beacons to guide us in the night? Are they the same in lands far away? Do their mysteries truly have meaning for our lives, as some would have us believe? I know not, but I marvel at their beauty and wonder at their consequence.”

Fallard nuzzled her temple while his hand moved beneath her cloak to find a warm haven. She trembled, but he only chuckled. “Mayhap, I can answer some part of your query. It has been told to me by men of the sea that in lands far to the south, where brave men live nigh to the edge of the world, the stars in the night sky are different than those here. Howbeit, some of those men also insist there is no edge to the world, that the world indeed is not flat but round, like an apple. Thus, one must hark to their words with discernment for mayhap, they seek to make jest with those who are bound to the land.

“Yet, ’tis no secret among the learned that great scholars of the past also believed in the circle of the earth, among them Pythagoras and Aristotle of the Greeks and Pliny of Rome. I myself have read not of this. But Father Gregory, who has told me of his great fortune to sojourn in Rome in his youth, said certain scholars of our own Christian beliefs have also expounded a circular earth. He, himself, believes this not, but merely states that some, such as Bede, have done so.”

“Aye, that is true,” Ysane’s interest in the subject was keen. “Yet St. Bonifice is said to have objected to the belief. But if such wise and learned scholars can agree not, how then does one consider what the truth might be?”

“That I can answer not, my rose. I, for one, have no wish to follow the paths of the sea to learn of these things, whether to Rome or to the lands of the far south.” Unabashed amusement colored his tone. “The crossing from here to Nourmaundie is more than enough for my liking. My stomach appreciates not the waves and my feet prefer the firm ground beneath them too well.”

For a time then, their conversation wove around the ancient myths and legends of their two peoples. They debated the existence of elves and faeries, in which Ysane believed, but Fallard did not. They discussed the tales of the terrible dragons and other portents of doom said to have plagued the people of Northumbria in the Year of Our Lord 793, and finally the merits of the even more ancient concepts of
Middengeard
and
Yggdrasill,
brought to this land by the Norsemen.

But as the hour grew late and the night’s chill grew deep about them, Ysane sought to huddle closer to Fallard for warmth. He lost no time in taking advantage with an embrace that left them both gasping.

“It grows cold, and I relish not the thought we are visible to the sentries,” Fallard said. He lifted her and carried her back to their bower. Taking care with her injuries, he loved her until all thought of profound scholarly concepts and all conversation regarding the deep mysteries of the universe were forgotten beneath the sweet simplicity of passion.

***

Hours of honest introspection later, wearily awake while his wife slept in his arms, Fallard accepted that which he had so long sought to avoid. The unfamiliar emotions Ysane stirred in him since the first moment he saw her—and verily, even before, when Kenrick Wulfsingas spoke so eloquently of her—were now explained. He had fallen in love with his wife.

This was the unknown conclusion he had moved toward, the very thing his soul had longed for, all unaware—that which his parents shared and for which he had long hoped. Foolishly, he had feared that giving so much of himself to another would somehow diminish his manhood and lessen his knightly skills. Yet, now that he thought, naught of the like had happened with his father or with King William, who loved his wife Matilda with a fervent adoration.

Though he was far from ready to reveal this new awareness to Ysane, he was relieved that neither his manliness nor his knightly prowess would be compromised. He smiled in the darkness as he gently kissed her temple, sighed in contentment and promptly fell fast asleep.

CHAPTER FORTY

The quiet days continued as the burfolc enjoyed the return of normality to their everyday life. Randel and Lewena returned home, Lewena ecstatic at thought of being with her children again after an absence so much longer than expected. Fallard chose not to incarcerate Leda. While she had no inviolate alibi for the time of Ysane’s fall, the testimony of witnesses did not agree. Enough uncertainty remained over her whereabouts that in justice, he could do not as he wished and confine her. He did, howbeit, reinstate the watch on her that had been allowed to slacken in the recent rush of events.

Under the assumption that Ysane’s fall was not accidental, Fallard also set men to guard her. They were never to leave her alone unless she was with him or a trusted male member of the hall, and that list of names was short. That she disliked the constant watch he knew, but she complained not. The guards did their best to be as unobtrusive as possible and he would not have relented, in any case.

Early one morn, Ysane came to him in the hall with the request she be allowed to visit Cynric’s cottage, for the seven-day of his absence was at its end and she wished to know if he had returned.

Fallard assigned the now inseparable duo of his valiant knight Varin and the equally doughty Saxon hearth companion Ingram as her escort.

From his position in the south guard tower, Fallard watched her ride into the forest on Freyja, the two warriors trailing behind. Ere the trees cut her off from his sight she turned and waved, her happy smile visible even across the distance of the clearing. Fallard startled himself by laughing in return, but he lifted his hand in acknowledgement.

How knew she that I would be here, watching? Mayhap, because she would do the same.

He surprised himself further by whistling as he traversed the crosswalk back to the hall.

***

The ride into the forest was delightful. After a damp, foggy beginning, the day had turned warm and sunny. The green growth was slowly beginning to recover from the unexpected winter blast.

Bluebells carpeted the woodland floor and Ysane caught a whiff of their sweet scent. A nuthatch piped a long and rapid trill in warning of their approach while squirrels scampered away in alarm. She laughed outright when one anxious specimen, its tufted ears and russet froth of a tail twitching madly, ran along a branch above her only to drop the huge acorn it carried right into her lap. It raced from tree to tree ahead of her, chittering and squeaking in apparent rage, and leapt onto another low-hanging branch directly over the path. It did a somersault around it, before dropping to hang from its hind feet as it watched her approach.

She reined in Freyja. Fat, fluffy rodent stared upside down at captivated woman, barely two feet apart. She made no sound. The squirrel’s every muscle quivered with the need to flee. Varin and Ingram fell silent some feet behind her. So slowly she might have been moving in cold honey, and making the offering with bated breath, Ysane took the acorn from her lap and raised it toward the tiny animal hanging in front of her. Moments ticked by as she sat absolutely still, waiting. The squirrel’s nose twitched as it sniffed. With a suddenness that left her blinking, it snatched the acorn from her palm and tore away along the underside of the branch, to disappear around the opposite side of the tree with one last scolding chitter and flick of its bushy tail.

Ingram rode up beside her. “’Twould have made a fine supper, my lady,” he teased with a grin.

Varin grunted in agreement.

“Oh nay, not that one,” she cried, but she had to laugh. The squirrel had clearly found plenty to eat of late in the spring forest, for its coat was thick and its belly round.

They continued their ride, reaching the turn-off to Cynric’s cottage. Freyja no sooner entered the obscure path before Varin gave an abrupt, angry bellow. Ysane twisted in the saddle to find Cynric in the path behind her. He held her two companions at bay with his bow. The arrow, unfortunately, was aimed at Varin’s heart.

“Cynric,
no!”

She believed not her brother would shoot the Norman but she could be not sure. He seemed to have changed so much. She flung herself off Freyja and ran to place her hand on the rock hard muscles that held taut the sinew of the bowstring.

Her heart raced. “These are my friends, Cynric. My escort. The escort
you
demanded. You will harm them not.”