Knights (20 page)

She sighed. Gareth and his troops were inside the hall now, their words and footsteps were audible on
the steep stairs. “When the—” She paused and flushed, though she willed herself not to. “When the proof of our consummation is known and we are let out—”

The clamor was drawing nigh, almost at the door.

“Yes?” Dane prompted, as though they had all the time ever meted out to mankind.

“I wish to know how you will treat me, my lord,” Gloriana said, with rising resolve. “Am I to live and work beside you, as your true wife? For I promise you, whatever pretty sentiments I may cherish toward you, I shall flee if you attempt to imprison me.”

The lock was turning in the great timber door even as Kenbrook laid both hands to Gloriana’s face and brushed the high ridges of her cheekbones with the pads of his thumbs. “You shall be my wife, Gloriana,” he promised. “Here, at Kenbrook Hall. And this will be our chamber, while the rest is restored. Our sons and daughters will be conceived here, and born here as well, if that pleases you.”

Gloriana blinked. There was a short rap at the door, but that was only a formality. The portal would swing open within a moment. “What of Mariette?”

Dane kissed her forehead, even as the doors creaked open and Gareth’s brawny oafs entered, braced for combat. Kenbrook paid them no heed at all. “I shall return her to France, if that is what she wants. If not, she may marry another, such as Maxen, the Welshman, or our own Edward, or enter the abbey. Neither she nor any other will be my mistress, Gloriana—not as long as you love me.”

“Accord at last!” boomed Gareth, in delight, from the region of the door. “Be gone, you louts—there is no need here for such as you.”

Reluctantly, Dane took his gaze from Gloriana’s to
find his elder brother. The guards, in obedience to their lord’s command, were removing themselves, with many a grumble and backward glance, from the bridal chamber

“I need not ask. Kenbrook, if you’ve made the lovely lady your own,” Gareth said, with a mingling of self-congratulation and something else that might have been the mildest envy. “It is plain, from the glow about her and the shine in your own eyes, that the alliance is no longer a sham, but genuine and fruitful, as God meant it to be.”

Gloriana slipped her hand into the crook of Kenbrook’s elbow, lest he be provoked by this sermon to do violence, but the gesture proved unnecessary.

Kenbrook was indeed in high spirits. “You see rightly, my brother,” he said. “Will you take wine to celebrate our good fortune?”

Gareth made a wry face, obviously thinking of the tactic he had used the day before to render his brother temporarily helpless. “Even if I live to walk the earth for ten and ninety years, Kenbrook, I shall never taste any wine of your offering.”

Dane raised an eyebrow, one arm resting loosely around Gloriana’s waist, holding her against his side. “You do not trust me, my lord?”

“Where all else is concerned, my faith in you is as steadfast and enduring as the walls of this keep. In the matters of your imprisonment and brief incapacitation—however pure we all know my motives to have been—I am not so ingenuous as to think you will fail to seek revenge in like measure. Though we have been apart these many years, after all, it was I who raised you, and I know well the devious workings of your mind.”

Gloriana saw an unsettling glint in Kenbrook’s eyes, and Gareth surely did as well.

“Take note of your own words,” Dane said, and though he spoke mildly, it came to Gloriana that venom is venom, however sweet. “They are wise ones, and true.”

An awkward silence followed, then Gareth cleared his throat. “As I said before, it is clear from your aspects that all is well between you.” He glanced briefly toward the bed, where the marks of Gloriana’s surrender did indeed color the sheets, beneath the tumbled cover. “Therefore, I shall not ask to see the—er—proof.”

“You are not only generous,” Dane remarked in that same quiet, innately dangerous tone of voice, “but prudent as well. As it happens, the lady Gloriana and I plan to make our home here. You may leave whenever you wish.”

Gareth opened his mouth, then closed it again, like a fish cast up on the bank. Gloriana, too, was surprised, for she’d expected the transition to be a more gradual one.

Red from throat to scalp, Gareth hesitated only a moment, then turned and strode out of the tower room, leaving the great doors agape behind him. Gloriana watched her brother-in-law go and felt sadness crouching in the back of her heart, behind the new and complicated emotions Dane had awakened in her.

“Pray,” Kenbrook said with gentle amusement, “do not mourn so, milady. My brother and I will make our peace in our own way, and in good time, I think. Meanwhile, you need not be estranged from Gareth or anyone in his household.” He took her hand. “Now
come, Lady Kenbrook, and I will show you parts of this hall you cannot have known before.”

Gloriana followed him out of the great circular room into the passage she had last seen as a captive, bound and wriggling. They descended the stairs swiftly and entered the great hall, which was so old that there were no fireplaces, but only pits in the floor and smoke-holes high above, to let in the rain. The place was a ruin, but Gloriana loved it and knew it for her home.

“I used to play here, with Edward,” she said as Kenbrook dragged her along. As fast as she moved, as long as her legs were, she could barely keep up with him, and her words came out breathless. “He was Artos—Arthur, the warrior king. And I was Guinevere.”

Dane stopped at the head of another set of stairs and turned to look into Gloriana’s face. In the deep shadows of the room, shGrievere could not make out his expression. His voice, however, was wry, and bore a hint of mischief.

“You have no need of an Arthur now, and I no want of a Guinevere. Theirs was an ill-fated alliance, after all, but ours will stand to the end of time and beyond.”

Despite her happiness, which was complete, Gloriana felt a brief chill of apprehension. “Please do not speak so, my lord,” she said, with a little shiver. “You mustn’t tempt Fate to belie your words.”

Kenbrook leaned forward on the stair, his hand still clasping hers, and kissed her lightly. It was a portent, that brief meeting of mouths, of past pleasures to be known again.

“As you wish, milady,” Dane said, and drew her on into the bowels of the castle, where she and Edward
had never dared to venture even on their boldest quests. The vast chambers, though dank, were not completely in darkness, for light entered from narrow windows beneath the heavy beams supporting the ceiling.

Gloriana caught a whiff of sulfur and heard the vague, lapping chatter of water.

“So, Guinevere,” Dane teased, hauling his tunic off over his head. “Arthur did not bring you here. I am pleased.”

“What—?” Gloriana faltered in her amazement and stood staring about her.

“They were fond of cleanliness, the Romans, among other things,” Dane explained, shedding his trunks, too, and then his leggings.

Gloriana clutched her brown woolen kirtle closed at the front, although it had not been unlaced, and peered after Kenbrook into the shifting of light and shadow.

The peculiar quality of the light struck her then; it danced and shimmered, as if reflected off water.

“This is a Roman bath?” she asked, hardly able to believe in the survival of something so ancient.

“Yes,” Dane called from further on, his voice echoing in the vast chambers. “There’s a spring—no doubt that’s one of the reasons the Legions chose this site for a fortress.”

Gloriana followed his voice and the sound of bubbling and splashing, until she came to a vast, square pool, surrounded by statues in various states of ruin. Broken tiles, still bearing traces of paint, edged the bath.

“How could it have survived?” Gloriana marveled, pulling off her kirtle and the chemise beneath it, setting them distractedly aside.

“The spring renews itself,” Dane said, holding out an arm glistening with water, “and the Romans built all their edifices, particularly those designed for pleasure, to withstand the centuries. Be careful how you proceed. There are cracks, of course, and the moss makes it slippery.”

Steam rose from the bubbling pool, along with the inevitable spoiled-egg smell.

Gloriana made her way toward Dane, cautiously eager and ever practical. “How does it drain?”

Kenbrook rested his hands on her shoulders. The hot, churning water felt wonderful, gently pummeling the muscles of her thighs and buttocks, chest and stomach, easing away the last lingering aches from their lovemaking and soothing the tender places. “There is a conduit system, leading down to the lake,” Dane said, his words tingling against the flesh of Gloriana’s mouth. It was plain his mind was not on the engineering feats of the Romans.

As he bent his head and kissed her with hungry fervor, Gloriana closed bold fingers around his manhood. A sense of magnificent power filled her, exulted her, as Dane’s responding moan rolled over her tongue.

There were no further preliminaries. With a single, powerful motion of his arms, Dane lifted Gloriana out of the water and set her squarely upon his staff, feasting greedily at her breasts as he slid her downward, with excruciating slowness, until she had sheathed him to the hilt.

Instinctively, Gloriana wrapped her legs around his hips and tilted her head back, already convulsing around him in a silent and violent rhythm, the legacy of Eve.

Kenbrook took longer, but when at last he found
his ease, his shout of triumph echoed throughout the shadowy chamber.

Gloriana sagged against Kenbrook, her arms around his neck, her legs encircling his pelvis, her head resting on his shoulder. They were still joined as he carried her to the shallow stone steps at the far side of the pool, laid her there, and washed her as tenderly as if she were a goddess lately rumbled from Mt. Olympus and still stunned from the fall.

When the bath had ended, they lay still on steps with edges worn smooth by time, sated and silent, entwined in each other’s arms while the warm water lapped around them.

Gloriana dozed, awakened, and dozed again. She could not remember knowing such contentment at any time in her life and might have lain there on those steps until the keep fell to rubble if Kenbrook hadn’t made her get up and put on her clothes.

Horses and men were waiting in the courtyard when they again reached the center hall, with its high, slitlike windows and grim fire pits. Apparently untroubled by the fact that his clothes were clinging to his skin and water still glistened in his hair and on his face and neck, Kenbrook went out to meet them.

Gloriana followed, moments later, after trying in vain to make herself appear dry and unruffled. She feared that the pleasure of her deflowering showed plainly in her face, for the lingering effects burned like a winter flame within her, and she would have hidden until the men went away if the idea hadn’t offended her pride. For all that the castle was little more than a ruin, she was the mistress of Kenbrook Hall, and it was her right as well as her duty to take her place at Dane’s side.

When she went out, she recognized the red-haired
Welshman, though the twenty-odd others were still strangers to her.

Maxen nodded respectfully. “Milady,” he said. She inclined her head in response, but did not speak.

Kenbrook turned to smile down at Gloriana, and she could see that he was pleased. His words further confirmed the fact. “My men have come to take up residence at Kenbrook Hall with us,” he said.

Like any hostess, Gloriana was wondering, rather frantically, what she would feed these men and where they would sleep, but in her own way she was as happy as Dane. They were his men-at-arms, and it was right that they should serve him, however decrepit his holdings.

“Find places for your horses,” Dane said, “and come in. My wife and I bid you welcome.”

While the score of soldiers were setting up household in their own quarters, which were, like the stables, on the far side of the broad courtyard, a caravan of carts appeared on the narrow, winding road leading past the abbey and on to Kenbrook Hall. Gloriana knew they were bringing supplies and servants, and was so pleased that she flung herself into Dane’s arms and kissed him soundly before running off to meet the new arrivals.

Judith, walking beside one of the overburdened carts, greeted her with a broad smile. “There you are, milady,” she said. “Has he kept you well, the master of Kenbrook Hall?”

Gloriana blushed to recall just how well Kenbrook had “kept” her. “I am fit,” she said. “What is all this?”

“Gifts from Lord Hadleigh, milady. And, of course, your own possessions too.” The young woman raised
her eyes to the hall and gave a slight but eloquent shudder. “The others and me, we’ll be sleeping in a pile like kittens, of a night,” she confided. “ ’Tis a fearsome place, this, full of wailing ghosts.”

“Nonsense,” Gloriana said. The blame for any “wailing” heard in Kenbrook Hall could not be placed on spirits, she thought wantonly. It was a private observation, of course, and she did not speak of it aloud.

The carts clattered over the courtyard and were unloaded by servants and soldiers, who carried the contents into the castle under Gloriana’s direction. Dane, in the meantime, was closeted away somewhere with Maxen, no doubt making plans for the restoration of Kenbrook Hall.

Gloriana had a few plans of her own, and gold to carry them out, but she would speak to her husband later, when they were alone.

By evening, Judith and her dedicated band of helpers had swept the main hall clean of cobwebs and other debris and scattered rushes over the floor. A cooking fire blazed outside the room that would eventually serve as a kitchen, and whole suckling pigs roasted over them, on spits.

Messengers went on horseback to Hadleigh Castle and to the abbey, and by twilight the invited guests were arriving.

Gareth came, and Lady Hadleigh was with him. Edward rode a little distance behind, looking proud and able on his war horse. Mariette, with Fabrienne, trundled along beside him in a cart driven by one of the grooms.

Gloriana braced herself, there in the now-busy courtyard with its flickering torches, for acrimony. She hoped she would not lose Mariette for a friend, but
at the same time she felt no remorse for having won back her husband.