Читать книгу Child of the Phoenix - Barbara Erskine - Страница 96

The Earl of Chester’s face was uncompromisingly stern. ‘I did not send for you,’ he said.

Eleyne raised her chin a fraction. ‘I wanted to return.’ She had forgotten how handsome he was, this husband of hers. She felt excitement beneath her apprehension.

Above her head the carved vaulted roof of the great hall of Chester Castle was lost in the shadows; after the comparatively small palace at Aber, it was a shock to remember the power of this great castle which was now her home.

She was intensely aware that the crowds of men and women, ostensibly busy about their affairs or gathered around one or other of the fires at either end of the hall, were watching and, if they were close enough, listening to the conversation between husband and wife.

Dafydd had exchanged only the briefest greetings with Lord Chester and then turned back into the storm, anxious to return to Wales before the snow closed the passes and locked the roads. He had offered no explanation for his sister’s unheralded return. Rhonwen had slipped away into the depths of the castle without a word, terrified that the earl would send her back with Dafydd. Eleyne was left to greet her husband alone and unattended.

He looked stronger than she remembered him. Tall and good-looking, he was in the great hall surrounded by his friends and advisers when she was announced. They formed a laughing animated group which stood back in silence as she walked the length of the hall to the dais and stepped up to greet him. In the long weeks at Aber she had grown again; this time she was nearly as tall as he, and her eyes met his steadily for a moment before she dropped a deep curtsey before him, her heart thumping.

‘What made you decide to return?’ He dropped his voice so they could not be overheard.

‘My place is at your side, my lord.’

‘Did your lover reject you?’

Her steady gaze belied the tightening of her throat, the quickness of her breath. She clenched her fists. ‘I told you before, my lord. I have no lover. You are the only husband I want.’

‘Because, no doubt, you have now obtained the assurance from your uncle the king that you may marry whom you will when I die.’ His eyes were watchful, his voice harsh.

‘I have not seen the king; nor have I written to him, my lord.’ It was becoming an effort to keep her eyes steady on his, but somehow she managed it, willing him to believe her.

He folded his arms thoughtfully. ‘Your brother was in a great hurry to leave,’ he said abruptly.

‘The weather is bad, my lord. He didn’t want to bring me to Chester, but I insisted. I wanted to return before it got so bad I was forced to stay at Aber until the spring.’

‘I see.’ There was a flash of humour in his eyes. ‘And Aber was becoming untenable, was it? Or did your father send you packing?’ He broke off as a flood of scarlet washed her cheeks. ‘Aha! At last I have nailed the truth,’ he said softly. ‘You have been sent away a second time. What did you do on this occasion, wife?’

Eleyne tried to keep her voice under control. ‘It was not my father, it was Isabella …’ She was fighting her tears. Abruptly, she turned away from him and went to stand in front of the huge stone fireplace with its burning logs, holding out her hands to the blaze. Her gaze sought the depths of the glowing heat, but there was no message for her, and she stepped back as her eyes began to smart. There was a long silence in the hall, broken only by the spitting of the fires and the low murmur of voices from below the dais.

Then John was behind her, his hands on her shoulders. She felt herself grow tense.

‘Eleyne, may I present a kinsman to you.’ His voice was perceptibly more gentle. ‘Come, turn round. This is a cousin of my grandmother’s, Robert Fitzooth.’

Swallowing hard, she faced them and forced herself to smile. The young man was as tall as John and as good-looking, with an irrepressible twinkle in his eye. He swept a low bow.

‘Lady Chester. I have heard so much about you and I had abandoned hope of seeing you before I left. Greetings, madam, and welcome home.’

She found she was smiling at him, responding instantly to his warmth and charm, so unaffected and uncomplicated after her husband’s greeting. Almost without realising it, she allowed him to lift her heavy cloak from her shoulders and toss it over a bench, then he produced a cup of wine from a hovering page.

‘You lucky man,’ he called over his shoulder at the earl. ‘You never told me how beautiful she is; that the storm would pass and the snow melt and the sun come up inside the hall when she came home.’

Eleyne laughed, and saw that John too was smiling, watching the two of them, arms folded with the tolerance an adult might show two children at play. ‘She likes you, Robin,’ he commented with a wry laugh. ‘Lucky man. Make the most of it.’

After supper Robin organised games and dancing in the hall and led Eleyne into all the dances, leaving John in his chair by the fire. By bedtime Eleyne was exhausted.

Robin looked at her and laughed at his cousin. ‘You will curse me for leaving your bride too tired for your private sport. Forgive me, my lord.’

John gave a forced smile. ‘Eleyne has enjoyed herself. It’s good to see her happy.’ He stood up and, reaching across, took her hand. ‘Nevertheless, as you say, it is late. Time for us to retire.’

They walked side by side from the hall, between ranks of bowing men and women, conscious that as soon as they had gone the dancing would start again.

Beyond the hall, the castle was bitterly cold; the wind had veered at last into the north and with it came the stranglehold of ice on the snow. Feeling the bite of it in her bones as they climbed the broad winding stair to the lord’s bedchamber, Eleyne wondered briefly if Dafydd would reach home before the ice came. Dafydd and she had exchanged so few words on their ride to Chester; their mutual resentment was a physical barrier between them.

Above her, at the angle of the curving stair, John stopped and looked down at her. His smile had gone. ‘You find my kinsman Robin attractive, I think.’ His voice was flat.

She stopped too, raising her face to look up at him in the shadows, and her skin tingled with warning. ‘He is indeed an attractive man.’ She could hear the defiance in her voice.

‘More so, no doubt, than your husband.’

Eleyne smiled sadly. ‘No one should be more attractive than a husband to a wife, my lord,’ she said softly. For a fleeting instant the image of William de Braose rose before her.

‘No, they should not.’ His mouth snapped shut on the words and he continued to climb.

Eleyne followed him, holding her heavy skirts clear of the stone steps. ‘Are you at all pleased to see me, my lord?’ Her voice, tenta tive above the howl of the wind, barely reached him.

‘Of course.’ He did not stop.

At the head of the stairs the gallery divided. To the east, it led to a small chapel and the lord’s private apartments; to the north, it led around the great square of the keep to the apartments reserved for visitors of state. Eleyne paused, then taking a deep breath she turned after her husband.

At the door to his chamber he bowed to her courteously. ‘You may make this room your own, Eleyne. I have given orders that your coffers and your servants be sent here. I myself will sleep elsewhere.’ He looked at her, thoughtfully. ‘Just until you are recovered from your journey.’

‘And then, my lord?’ She did not realise that her eyes were pleading.

‘And then we shall see.’ He reached out and touched her cheek. ‘I trust you did not bring the Lady Rhonwen back with you from Wales, Eleyne.’

Eleyne froze, her eyes on his, unable to look away.

‘You know how I mistrusted that woman,’ he went on. ‘She was bad for you, keeping you a child, leading you into evil ways …’ He paused, noticing her stricken expression. He said nothing, then slowly he sighed. He pushed open the chamber door and walked in.

Rhonwen was supervising the unpacking of Eleyne’s boxes, standing in the middle of the floor as some half-dozen maids scurried around her, depositing armloads of linen in carved and painted coffers and chests around the walls. The lights flickered in the draught of the open door and Rhonwen looked around. For a long moment she and Lord Chester surveyed one another, then quietly, somehow hopelessly, he laughed: ‘So that is the way of it.’

‘You never said she couldn’t return, my lord,’ Eleyne cried. ‘You never said she had to stay in Wales.’

‘Did I not?’ He looked at her coldly. ‘I had thought you would have understood my intentions.’

That night Eleyne tossed and turned alone in the great bed, listening to the wind howling in the chimneys, and by morning she had reached a decision. After hearing mass in their private chapel at her husband’s side, she waited until the household had broken their fast and then followed him to the side chamber where he was sitting at his desk. His face was pale, his hands stiff with cold as he reached for the first letter. His clerks hovered nearby waiting to begin work. One of them, his nose red and swollen, sneezed dismally into the crook of his arm and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

‘I should like to talk to you alone, my lord,’ she said boldly. Her back straight, her eyes steadily on his, she clasped her hands together to give her courage.

For a moment she thought he would refuse, then with a curt nod of his head he gestured the clerks towards the door. Bowing, they withdrew.

‘If you are wondering where Robin was at breakfast, he has left the castle,’ he commented curtly. ‘He too was afraid of being caught in the snow. He asked me to pass his farewells to you.’

‘I did not go downstairs to breakfast, my lord,’ Eleyne retorted. ‘Sir Robert’s whereabouts are of no interest to me.’ Her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep and her head ached. She must not lose her temper; she must keep up her courage; she must remember what she had vowed to do. ‘I came to talk to you about Rhonwen. If it is your wish, I shall send her back to Wales. All I ask is that we give her a dowry to enable her to marry well. I love her as a mother. I should not like her thrown destitute upon the world.’

John looked at her closely. ‘Have you told her that this is what you intend?’ he asked shrewdly.

Eleyne hung her head, then once more straightened her shoulders. ‘Not yet, my lord,’ she said honestly. She smiled wearily. ‘I didn’t have the courage. But I shall do so at once if it is your wish.’ The pain in her eyes was obvious, in spite of the resolution in her voice.

He frowned. ‘You really love that woman, don’t you? Even knowing she is not a Christian.’

‘She will attend mass if I ask it of her, my lord,’ Eleyne said firmly. She took a deep breath. ‘I was a child when I came to you. I did not realise that the things I had been told by Einion were bad. He had offered to help me understand my dreams. For that I was grateful. But I know what I did was wrong. I am no priestess of the Welsh gods of ancient times. I am your wife and I am no longer a child. I have put Einion’s teachings behind me, and Rhonwen understands that. I saw Einion …’ She hesitated. To tell him was a risk; it was also perhaps the key to the future. ‘I saw him before I came back to Chester and he confirmed what I already knew in my heart. That my place is at your side. And that our future lies in Scotland.’

She saw the excitement flare in his eyes, and she felt an answering excitement inside herself.

‘In Scotland?’ he repeated. ‘He said that?’

‘Yes, my lord. He said that my place was with the King of Scotland and that I would live – and die – in that country.’

John stood up. He threw the letter which had been clutched in his hand on to the table and watched as it slowly refolded itself. ‘So. It is to happen. When?’ He rounded on her, his face alight with suppressed fire.

She shook her head. ‘He showed me no calendar, my lord.’ She smiled, her heart thumping with excitement.

‘And the future? Did he see children?’ The eagerness and fear in his voice made her blush as she replied: ‘He said I should be the mother of a line of kings.’

‘So!’ He smacked his hands together triumphantly. ‘I knew it! I felt it in my bones! And you –’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘You are to be the mother of my heir.’

She smiled. ‘So it would seem, my lord.’ She looked up at him as he pulled her closer and she could feel her breath coming in small gasps. It was working; working more surely than ever she would have dreamed possible. Let it be now, she thought incoherently as she reached up, seeking his lips with her own, now while he is excited and optimistic and strong. Let it be now.

As if reading her thoughts he murmured through his kisses, ‘Why don’t we retire to the bedchamber, my Eleyne? Dear God, you’ve been away too long and I have missed you.’ He held her away from him as if trying to reassure himself that she was indeed a grown woman now, eager in his arms. ‘You’re not afraid?’

Her heart was hammering wildly beneath her ribs. ‘Oh no, my lord, I am not afraid.’ She reached up again to kiss him, her lips tracing the angle of his jaw, finding the soft skin of his cheek beneath the rough neatness of his beard as he caught her hand and pulled her towards the door.

Outside the three clerks were waiting dutifully to be summoned back to their master’s office. They looked up as the door opened, but neither the earl nor the countess noticed them, even when one sneezed yet again as they walked past. Holding Eleyne by the wrist, John walked swiftly across the stone flags towards the staircase. Almost running to keep up with him, Eleyne was oblivious of the interested faces watching from the shadows as she followed him upwards, concentrating, as he was, only on what was to happen once they reached the privacy of the bedchamber. He flung back the door and stood still.

Rhonwen sat by the fire with two other women. They were gossiping softly in the intimate warmth of the hearth. The three faces turned in surprise as the door crashed against the wall.

‘Out!’ John jerked his thumb towards the door. The women rose and, dropping their spindles, scuttled past him. Rhonwen hesitated for a second as though she were about to speak. One glance at John’s face made her change her mind and she followed the others, closing the door behind her.

‘At last.’ John turned the key in the lock. Unclasping his mantle, he let it drop to the floor. ‘Wife –’ He pulled her to him and kissed her. She could feel the strength and power centred within him, so different from his habitual gentle reserve. Lifting her mouth to his, she felt herself grow dizzy with longing. He felt her excitement and smiled. ‘So, you are eager for your husband at last.’

‘You know I am,’ she whispered. She longed to tear off her clothes, to feel his hands crushing her breasts, to feel his skin against hers; to throw herself to the ground and roll on the floor naked before the fire. Her whole body sang with life. But then, dimly, in some recess of her mind, she heard a small voice of caution. She must not shock him with her eagerness; she must not let him think her wanton; she must let him lead.

Closing her eyes she pressed against him, feeling his arms tighten immediately around her. ‘Sweet Eleyne,’ he murmured, his lips against her ear, and now he was slowly, gently, feeling for the lacings of her gown. She stood still, trembling with anticipation as he undressed her, removing each garment slowly and carefully until even her shift had gone. For a long time he did nothing. He stood looking at her with an expression of wonder on his face. ‘I hadn’t dreamed you were so beautiful.’ His voice was hoarse. Not touching her body, he reached up to the braids wound around her head beneath her veil. Unpinning the fine fabric, he began carefully to unplait her hair until it hung in a rippled curtain around her breasts. ‘You are sure you’re not afraid?’ He had felt her trembling.

She shook her head, her eyes lowered, shy suddenly before the intensity of his gaze. ‘No, I’m not afraid.’

‘My love.’ His hand on her shoulder was featherlight. She scarcely felt it as it traced along her collar-bone and down towards her breast. But his gentle touch on her nipple sent a bolt of lightning knifing through her body. She gasped and he looked up, frowning. ‘I didn’t hurt you?’

‘No. No, my lord, you didn’t hurt me.’ Her words came in a rush.

‘I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, Eleyne – ’

‘You won’t, my lord.’ Her voice dropped, instinctively low and seductive as she caught his face in her hands and brought it towards hers. ‘You won’t.’

He kissed her long and hard, then he drew her towards the bed. She followed him, her breathing quick and shallow, her pale skin flushed in the light of the fire.

His body was painfully thin, his skin as soft and white as a girl’s. To Eleyne it was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. Mesmerised by the intensity of his gaze and the light touch of his hands on her belly and flanks, she lay back on the bed, her hair spread loose on the silk sheets and pillows, unaware that as her arms drew him down towards her, her legs had parted as naturally and wantonly as any village girl’s with her man in the hay.

With a groan, he buried his face in her hair and she felt with a quick exultation his weight come down on her slim body.

There was very little pain. For the few short moments he was inside her, she felt her exhilaration rise as his sweat turned the skin of his shoulders slippery beneath her clinging fingers and she felt the thundering of his heart against hers. Then it was all over. Triumphantly he rolled away from her. He lay still, breathing heavily as he gazed up at the shadowy tester above their heads. The flickering lights from the fire slid back and forth across the damask till it glowed like a sea of living gems. He heaved himself up on one elbow and looked at her with a smile. ‘Are you happy, my love?’ On the damp sheet below her hips he had seen the small smears of blood. The servants would find them later, and draw their own conclusions. He smiled triumphantly and Eleyne smiled back at him. ‘I’m very happy.’

‘And now you are truly my wife.’ He pushed the hair back gently from her face and reached down to pull the covers over her. Tenderly he kissed her on the forehead, then he slipped from the bed. She watched as he pulled on his clothes. The long dark green tunic clasped at the waist with a leather belt, engraved with gold, then the heavy mantle, green too, though a lighter shade, dyed with mountain lichens, the embroidered border gleaming with gold and vermilion threads. His light gold hair, darkened with sweat, framed his face as he pushed his feet into his shoes.

He came back to the bed and sat down beside her, resting his hand for a moment on her breast. ‘Sweet Eleyne. Sleep now, my darling. We’ll talk later.’ He strode from the room.

Obscurely she felt a little disappointed. Her body still yearned for his; it felt alive, her skin so sensitive that the slight draught straying over the floor from the doorway touched her like the caress of a man. Never had she felt more alert. But he had gone.