Lord of My Heart (42 page)

“A wise decision, wouldn’t you say, de Pouissey?”

“A cautious one,” sneered Odo. “I find it odd that Aimery de Gaillard fought valiantly against Gospatric, but struck no blow against Hereward. There are those who claim they were on good terms, even clasping hands at the end.”

William looked intrigued. “Are you saying it was all staged, with Hereward and Aimery saving the day in order to gain my favor?”

The thought had obviously never crossed Odo’s mind, but he grasped it eagerly. “Yes, sire.”

“What an exceedingly subtle mind you have. But Aimery already has my favor in full measure, and Hereward has merely to bend the knee to me to receive it.”

Odo swallowed. “But what of the murder at Huntingdon?” he said desperately. “Where is the woman, Aldreda, who has the knife found in the body? It is de Gaillard’s own knife, awarded to him by you.”

“What woman is this?” asked William.

“Aldreda is a weaver from Baddersley,” said Aimery. “Her husband was found dead in Huntingdon. If Hereward is to be believed, she, too, is dead.”

“Dead!” cried Odo. “Foully murdered then. By you!”

“By Hereward,” said Aimery, “for reasons personal to them. I have had no opportunity for private death for many hours.”

Odo was red with rage and looking more like his father by the second. He was as foolish, too, for the king was clearly keen to overlook all if he was allowed. “She should have the knife on her,” Odo blustered. “That is proof.”

Madeleine spoke up. “I’m not sure how it would be proof of anything, but I thought
I
had the knife the king awarded to Aimery.” She indicated the knife on her girdle.

Odo stared. “Where did you get that?”

“From Aimery, weeks ago.”

“Let me see it.” The king studied the knife and nodded. “It is the same.” He looked at Odo with a warning frown. “I believe your intentions, de Pouissey, are loyal, but you have been misinformed. What motive could Aimery have to murder a peasant?”

Odo glared at Aimery. “That peasant would have named him as Golden Hart, as would the weaver. He has killed them, but there is another, sire. Send for Bertrand, who was a man of Robert d’Oilly’s. He is in my party, and once encountered Golden Hart, as you know. He will tell all.”

The king’s face was coldly inscrutable as he had the man summoned. Guy and Lucia were pale. Aimery looked calm.

The man entered and fell to his knee, his eyes flickering about nervously. They were sharp eyes, though.

“Now, Bertrand,” said the king, “Lord Odo seems to think you can identify someone here as the giant who attacked you at Banbury.”

The man looked around, and his eyes lingered for a moment on Aimery. “Nay, sire. None here are large enough.”

“You lie!” shouted Odo. “You said to me two days past that Lord Aimery could be the man.”

“I said
could
be, my lord. So could any number of people. But Lord Aimery is a true Norman knight, as he’s shown this day. The man I fought was lowborn.”

“But handled a sword well,” said Odo.

The man was now quite cocky. “
I
handle a sword well, and I’m lowborn.”

Odo would have said more, but the king interrupted. “There is clearly nothing in this.” He passed Bertrand some coins. “You may go, my man, with our thanks.”

The king regarded Odo with cold humor. “If this continues, de Pouissey, I might begin to think you carry a grudge against Aimery for winning the fair Lady Madeleine.”

Odo glared around, too furious to hear the warning in the king’s voice. “I only carry a grudge against traitors, sire. He has killed two witnesses and suborned another, but there is one witness that cannot be silenced. Aimery de Gaillard carries a mark on his hand that tells his guilt as clear as the gospels.” He swung to face Aimery. “I see you hide it under a rag. Show us that heathenish mark if you dare!”

Aimery calmly unwound the cloth and removed the bracelet from his wrist. The scar of the boar-wound ran from the middle of his hand a few inches up his forearm. Now it was surmounted by an angry red circle. The skin marks were a mere tangle of lines.

“So,” said the king. “Who can tell what that is supposed to be?”

It was unclear whether it was a question or not, but Lucia answered it. “It was a horse, sire. Now it’s just a mess with four legs. I don’t see how Aimery could possibly be Golden Hart, even if he were so foolish, for as I traveled, I heard the outlaw was harrying shipping to France.”

“And I,” said the king, “have had certain word that he raided Lancaster two days since with a body of Scots.” He looked at Odo. “I fear this north country has turned your wits, de Pouissey. I bid you go serve with Lord William Fitz Osbern against the Welsh. That area may suit you better and enable you to gain the rewards you so clearly seek.”

With a sound perilously close to a snarl, Odo bowed himself out. There was a collective expiration.

William passed his child back to Matilda and looked at Aimery. “And now, Golden Hart . . .”

The king’s eyes were cold. “You spawned a monster which troubles me.”

Aimery met his anger calmly. “It would have spawned itself, sire.”

The king smiled wolfishly. “If I truly wished to punish you, I would exile you to Normandy. Would you go?”

Aimery paled. After a heavy moment he said, “No, sire.”

Lucia gasped.

“Would you join Hereward?”

“No, sire. I suppose I would truly be Edwald the outlaw.”

The king exploded. “Doing what, by the Blood?”

“Helping the people.”

William shook his head. “You try my patience sorely, Aimery.” He sat staring at the young man. Madeleine felt as if everyone in the room was holding their breath; she knew she was. Except the oblivious baby, which suddenly gave a little squawk. The tension broke.

The king relaxed. “But you have served me well this day.” He thrust his hand forward. “Help the people, then. Help
my
people, but do it as Aimery de Gaillard.”

Aimery kissed the king’s hand and rose.

“Now go away,” said the king. “The queen and I will rest here for the night. You must fend for yourselves.”

As they left the hut Guy groaned. “Lucia. Is your hair gray, too?”

“I’m scared to look.”

Guy turned to Aimery. “I could flay you alive. Is it over now?”

Aimery shrugged. “I won’t play Golden Hart anymore. The rest, I suppose, is
wyrd.”

Guy muttered something and led Lucia away.

Madeleine went into Aimery’s arms. “Are we safe?”

He kissed her. “As safe as we’re ever likely to be. Which is to say, not very. But I have hope we’ll at least make it to York.”

She blushed. “Do you think of nothing else?”

His hands flexed on her shoulders. “Between protecting the queen, fighting for my life, and confessing my sins to William? No, I don’t suppose I do. I’m beginning to let myself think of going home to look after Baddersley and Rolleston. Of watching you give birth to our first child. Of finding a way for England to prosper . . . Do you trust me?”

“Completely. I’m sorry.”

“I never did tell you the service I did for Hereward.”

“I don’t care.”

“I had permission to tell you days ago, and didn’t. I wanted your blind faith, which was a weakness in me.”

Madeleine had to be honest. “I couldn’t be entirely sure until I saw you fight Gospatric and deny Hereward.”

He kissed her again. “I know. I don’t mind. I don’t think blind faith is an admirable quality all in all. Give me a woman who uses her wits any day. I delivered a package.”

“A package?”

“To be precise, Lady Agatha.”

Madeleine looked at him. “What on earth are you talking about?”

He put his arm around her, and they began to stroll about looking for some sheltered corner in which to sleep. “Silly little Agatha took it into her head to join Edwin, like the heroine from a ballad. With a couple of stupid guards—they’d have to be stupid to go along with it—she rode up the North Road asking for him. The men who captured her were going to try for ransom, but Hereward heard and took charge of her. He had no safe way of returning her to court and summoned me.”

“That was Gyrth. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“That was Gyrth, but I wasn’t intending to go. I’d been refusing summonses from Hereward since Senlac, and I thought it a trick. Then the queen’s messenger passed through on his way to York, with a secret urgent request that I use my contacts to find Agatha.”

“So you went. But you could have told me something.”

He laughed. “I left you a vague but reassuring message. I think it must have lost some meaning by the time it reached you.”

“It did indeed. Poor Agatha. Dragged home in disgrace. No wonder she was so sullen when I saw her.”

“Yes.” They settled for a damp corner of a hut which at least still had part of a roof and a layer of straw. He lay with her in his arms. “And poor Aldreda. And Frieda. These are hard times.”

“Yes,” said Madeleine. “But there’s always York.”

The route was crowded, but Madeleine could not judge the mood of the people. There were smiles, and even enthusiasm when coins were thrown, but she didn’t trust the good humor to last. An occasional voice would cry, “The atheling!” and there would be a cheer, but not everyone cheered, and she suspected the ones who cried that important name were paid by William’s men.

She glanced at Aimery, and he smiled back. The look in his eyes made her toes curl. She found she didn’t really care about the settling of Northumbria as long as it didn’t interfere with the coming night.

The king was lodging at the bishop’s palace, and Madeleine was kept busy there helping to settle the queen and the baby. Eventually, however, Matilda noticed her. “Sweet heavens, child, have you nothing better to do? Go and see to your own lodging. You deserve a reward.”

With a blushing smile, Madeleine went.

It took time and a number of inquiries to find the tiny room she and Aimery had been given. With the bed and their chests there was scarcely room to move, but it was private, it had a bed, and no one would suggest they include a third person in such a cramped space. It was perfect.

Madeleine wished she could stay here until Aimery came, then remain here forever, but there was the evening meal to get through. Dorothy dressed her in a fine kirtle and tunic and plaited her hair, covering it with an embroidered scarf crossed at the front and hanging to the waist behind. Madeleine chose her jewels—a gold collar and the bracelets Aimery had given her as her morning gift—then sent the woman off, telling her not to return.

She waited as long as she dared for Aimery to come and change, for she’d not had a private moment with him since the morning, but the second blast of the horn made her leave the room. Ah well, there would be later.

But as she walked along the narrow passageway she was snared and wrapped in a cloak, a cloak she remembered. Her heart leaped, and she tingled with expectation. “The meal?”

“We’re excused,” he said in English against her ear.

She leaned back against him. “I don’t suppose by any chance you’re naked, are you?”

He choked on laughter. “That would be rash, wouldn’t it, here in the passageway?”

“But a lovely thought . . .”

His lips nuzzled the skin of her nape through the silk of her scarf. “I have hundreds of lovely thoughts, my dusky lady. Thoughts of your breasts heavy in my hands, your skin smooth beneath my fingers. I’m going to touch your breasts until they sing for me like music, and lick them till they reach for me.”

He wasn’t doing anything, but her breath was fractured, and she was hot within the cloak. “You promised me a bed,” she said.

“In good time.” His hand moved at last, moved to simply cover an aching breast, bringing more torment than relief. “I fear I’ve taught you to be impatient, love. Time to learn a different lesson.”

“What lesson is that?” The third bellow of the horn meant everyone would be in the hall. They were truly alone.

“The delights of postponing delight. Do you remember what I said to you by the river?”

She moved against his hand. “I remember what you said you said.”

“I said I was going to tease your nipples to aching, then suck them soft, suck them hard until you were wild for me.” Again her body moved of its own will, begging for what it was promised.

Madeleine could not move her hands, but she pressed back against him and wriggled. She heard him catch his breath.

“I told you how hot and moist you were for me,” he said hoarsely. “How much more so you would be when I touched you there. How I’d make you ache, and take your ache and turn it into fire. I’m going to love you slowly, my wife, very, very slowly, then when you can’t stand it anymore, I’ll take you hard and fast.”

Her body burned for him. She ached already. “I can’t stand it anymore,” she whispered.

He chuckled. “You have a lot to learn.”

He carried her to their room, unwound the cloak, then sat her firmly on the bed. Madeleine watched dazedly as he undressed himself. Finally he stood naked before her in full desire, all gold. Gold skin, gold hair, gold bands on strong arms. Her beautiful river god. Her faery prince.

He wore armbands, and a bracelet on his left wrist, but none on his right. Because of the wound, or because it was no longer necessary?

She touched gently near the blistered circle on the back of his right hand. “Hereward saved you with this.”

“And doubtless knew it.”

Madeleine thought of the magic that wove through this land. Was it part of the magic that was weaving through her now? She rose and ran a hand up a muscled arm, across his chest, and down the other. It was as if his flesh sang beneath her fingers. Was this how she felt to him?

She moved to undress, but he swung her against him again, her back to him. “Now I’m naked,” he said softly. She knew it. His erection was hard against her back. Her heart was thundering. Her legs shook. How much more of this could she endure?

He put his hands over her breasts and rubbed them with the most tender touch, so she could scarcely feel it through three layers of cloth. It was as if fire surged through her veins. “Sweet heavens,” she gasped.

“Sweet heavens indeed,” he whispered as one hand slid down to press at the juncture of her thighs. She whimpered. He worked up her skirt until his hand could slide between her thighs. Her head fell back, then forward. A shudder took her, and only his strong arm held her up.

Gently he turned her, put her hands on his shoulders, and undid her girdle. Madeleine regained some of her wits and was able to cooperate as he stripped off her clothes in one layer, until she, too, was dressed only in her jewels—the heavy gold collar and the two bracelets.

His eyes traveled over every inch of her and adored her without words. Responding to that message, Madeleine spread her arms and turned before him, flashing him a triumphant smile. He laughed and captured her, lowered his head to lick first one nipple then the other until a shuddering wave passed through her. But that was all.

He began to unravel her plaits.

Playfully desperate, she reached for his erect shaft. He laughed, dodged, and in a moment she found her wrists bound with her silk scarf. “Aimery!”

“Just to keep you out of mischief for a moment,” he said, and continued his work until her hair was a rich curtain around her. He rubbed one long strand over her right nipple and smiled. “I’ll untie you, but if you touch me, I’ll spill my seed. Then you’ll have to wait even longer.”

“Keep me tied then,” she said, pressing forward. “But do it. I’m wild for you. Truly I am!”

“Do you think so? But I promised you long, slow love in a bed. We haven’t even made it to the bed yet.” Madeleine groaned as he led her there. He pulled back the covers and settled her on cool linen sheets. His hands began to wander over her, exciting and abandoning a host of delicious places.

“Come to me!” she gasped. “Is this love or torture?”

He grinned. “Which does it feel like?”

“I don’t know!”

He flicked the silk off her wrists and rolled onto his back. “Then you take charge.”

Madeleine stared at him. His manhood was hard and full and beautiful. She looked at the silk in her hands and wafted it gently over him, saw him tremble. With a mischievous grin, she bound his hands with the scarf, being careful of his burn. The bond wasn’t even knotted, and she knew he could break it if it was, but she knew, too, that it would hold him as her prisoner.

Pulled by some force, she leaned forward till her heavy hair fell on him. She swayed her head so that the tresses brushed over his chest and thighs. She heard him catch his breath and looked up. “Is this love or torture?” she asked softly.

“I don’t know.”

She lowered her lips and touched the glistening tip of his shaft. It jerked. He groaned. She saw his hands clench.

She throbbed to have him in her, but she wanted this, too. This power. She touched him with her tongue, watching him. He looked to be in agony, and she repented. She loosed the scarf and tickled him with it again.

“Amazing what they teach you in a convent,” he muttered, and confiscated the teasing silk.

Madeleine giggled. “It must be an instinct. But,” she added, “tell me true. Do men suck fluid from a woman’s breasts to stiffen themselves?”

He burst out laughing. “Believe me, I was stiff as a poker before I touched your breasts. But let’s make sure.”

His mouth was hot on her nipples, and he tongued and teased her until she moaned. Then, as he had promised, he sucked hard, so hard that she cried out and arched like a bow.

Then, again as he’d promised, he entered her hard and strong, watching her with dark, heated eyes. Madeleine tried to watch him, to see his ecstasy, but reality vanished for her as the fever roared. She knew only the heat and power of him as she flew apart into heavenly fragments.

She drifted together again and licked the salt sweat from his shoulder. “Could I live on this, do you think?”

He laughed. “No.”

“Are we going to do it again right now?”

“No.”

“Do you love me?”

“No.”

Madeleine’s eyes flew open. He smiled lazily. “You asked for that. Love is too mild a word. You are to me as my heart is to me.”

“I don’t think love is a mild word, Aimery. It’s like the oceans and the storms, and the heat of the sun. It’s the power of a leaf as it breaks free of the earth, and the flow of the river that grinds the corn. It’s the joining in the bed, and the birthing of babes. With love we can do anything.”

He disentangled them from her hair, and peeled their damp bodies apart so that he could gather her into his arms. “Then let’s use our love to grow things, sweet heart of mine. Both corn and babes. And a peaceful England for their future. God and
wyrd
willing.”

Madeleine settled against him. “God and
wyrd
willing, dear lord of my heart.”