Malia Martin (8 page)

Cuthebert blinked, his dark look for a moment broken by surprise. “Well, I . . . you’re welcome.” His words obviously came automatically, for the man looked as if his own mouth had turned traitor on him. He scowled once again, pursing his lips.

“And I ask you to relay my words of comfort to them.”

“Hmmmpf.” Cuthebert had regained his sullen demeanor. He turned his attention to his book still in the hands of Cyne. “I shall have the tome now.” He put his hand out, lifting it a bit and wiggling his fingers to get Cyne’s attention.

Cyne turned his gaze from the book in his hand to the scrawny old man in front of him. He looked from the book to the man’s spindly fingers, then back to the book. Cyne smiled finally, nodded, and dropped the book.

Cuthebert made a crashing dive to save his precious volume from hitting the floor and ended up in a bony mass against Cyne’s legs.

Aleene’s lips twitched, but she bit her lower lip mercilessly and snagged Cyne’s arm. “Come Cyne, I must see that dinner is being prepared.” Her husband gently stepped over Cuthebert, flashed another beguiling smile at the man, and allowed Aleene to draw him outside across the inner bailey to the kitchen area.

A servant, stripped to his
braies,
hunched over the fire and stirred something in a great pot. Berthilde, her fondness for being in charge showing in each gesture, directed a young girl in the finer points of plucking a chicken. Aleene wrinkled her nose at the several flavors in the air, some not so appetizing, and deduced that blood pudding would be on the menu that day. She had never harbored a liking for blood pudding. “All goes well, Berthilde?”

Berthilde glanced up from her lecture and nodded. “Aye, milady. I have everything in hand.”

“Of course.” Aleene sidled further away from the boiling cauldron and its pungent odor. “I would like to lay new rushes, Berthilde. Have Gwen sweep out the Hall and my chambers.”

“Yes, milady.”

“And the privies need to be cleaned out. Advise Wat to do so as soon as possible.” Again, Aleene scrunched up her nose. “I could smell them this morning as I went to chapel.”

A slight smile touched Berthilde’s lips, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening slightly. “I, also, milady.”

“I shall be directing the candle-making until dinner.” Aleene stopped when she felt someone nudge her elbow. Looking around, she encountered the wide grin of her husband. Her own lips twitched, wanting to smile back, but she furrowed her brow to keep such a thing from happening. “What is it, Cyne?”

He stood a little straighter and held out his hand. A straw basket hung from his fingers.

“It’s a basket, Cyne, to carry things in.”

He nodded and put it closer to her face. Inside she saw one of the loaves of bread Berthilde had left cooling, a great hunk of cheese, and some of the dried, salted pork left over from the year before. Aleene blinked at the food, then stared at her husband. “That is one of Berthilde’s fresh loaves, Cyne, could you put it back please?”

Impatiently, Cyne shook his head and nodded toward the basket again. Then he pointed out toward the wall of the castle.

“Cyne, I do not have time . . .”

“He wishes to have a picnic, milady, outside of the walls.”

Aleene glanced at Berthilde. “A picnic?” She looked back at her husband. “A picnic?”

His smile broadened, and he pointed again.

Aleene shook her head with an exasperated sigh. “I have no time for this, Cyne. I must get to the candles, and you cannot go anywhere without me.”

“Milady,” Berthilde interrupted. “I can oversee the candle-making.”

“And everything else?” Aleene shook her head. “No, Berthilde, there is too much to do.” She turned to Cyne. “I cannot spend a day doing nothing.”

His smile dimmed, his lower lip pushing out in a pout.

Aleene rolled her eyes. “Deus, are you to cry next?”

The lip pushed out further as Aleene heard Berthilde’s disapproving tsk.

“But I shall miss dinner, and I really did need to speak with Aethregard.” Aleene looked at Berthilde and then to her husband. “I can’t, really,” she said again.

“It will do you good, milady, to be alone with your new husband.”

“But . . .” Aleene bit her lip, torn between being the hardworking lady of the household of whom none of her people could complain, and giving in to Cyne. She wanted to see those liquid blue eyes of his light from within, wanted to see him happy, because in an odd way that made her, if not happy, at least closer to the elusive emotion than she had been in many, many years.

“Well, the candle-making has waited a day, I guess it can wait another.”

“We have plenty of candles to keep us until then, milady.”

“Yes, well then, I will be going out this day with my husband on a picnic. Do as I have asked, supervise Wat and Gwen in their chores and tell the women that we shall make candles tomorrow.” She turned to leave, then stopped. “Oh, and add a flagon of ale to the basket.”

“Yes, milady.” Berthilde smiled as she went to get the ale.

Aleene held her hand out to Cyne, and he grasped it enthusiastically.

“You have gotten your way this day, my playful lord, but we must work on the morrow, or winter will find us starving in the dark!”

Pulling her along behind him, Cyne took off toward the gate.

Aleene could not help but to laugh at his exuberance, and she found herself doubling her
steps to keep up with his long strides.

“Milady, your ale,” Berthilde cried across the bailey.

Aleene yanked at Cyne’s hand, and when he didn’t stop his mad dash for the gate, laughed and yanked again. “We shall be out soon enough, Cyne, hold for but a moment.”

He slowed, allowing Berthilde time to catch up to them and put the ale in the basket. Then, he took off again, whistling a sprightly tune.

Aleene could only laugh at Berthilde’s dumbfounded expression, then put all of her concentration to the task of staying abreast of her husband. The gatekeeper smiled at them as he let them out, or rather smiled at Cyne. With a start Aleene realized that nobody smiled at her, at least none had before Cyne’s arrival. It was a nice departure, actually, from the grim faces she encountered each day.

Leaving the tall, timbered wall of Seabreeze Castle behind them, Cyne strode purposefully toward the sea. They passed the crumbling, stone walls of the old Roman fort and turned south, following the jagged cliffs that ran along the coastline. Together, hand in hand, they walked, the wet wind whipping at Aleene’s veil, wrapping it around her and Cyne as well.

After batting the material away from his face a few times, Cyne stopped, put down the basket and took the veil from Aleene’s head. He had it tucked into the basket before Aleene had even registered what he meant to do. She touched her bare head tentatively, a tiny spiral of tension winding through her.

Cyne picked up the basket and recaptured her hand, oblivious to her nervous gesture. Again, a strong whistle came from his lips as he started down the coast, his face upturned toward the sun like the petals of a great yellow sunflower.

Aleene allowed him to tug her along behind him, willing herself to let go of her fear, of her reluctance. She need not fear anything with this man-child. With that thought, she took a great breath, letting the tang of the sea sting her nostrils, and the heavy, wet air fill her lungs.

They passed one of the lookouts, one of the Pevensey villagers who had stayed to protect his own coastline. Aethregard’s men stood watch closer to the harbor, where there was more potential for trouble. With a slight shake of her head, Aleene scattered the thoughts of the Fyrd, of Aethregard, and of the king’s paranoid ideas of invasion and walked along with her husband, away from the watchful eyes of the villager.

When they reached the edge of the cliff with a steep path winding toward the cove below, Aleene showed, it to Cyne. He frowned at the narrow walkway, then carefully started down ahead of her.

“No, Cyne, let me,” Aleene protested. “I know the way.”

But her husband only frowned again, this time at her, and continued down the path. Worried that he might fall, Aleene hurried down after him, keeping her eyes on his feet. “Be careful, husband.” She tugged at her bottom lip with her teeth. “A root in your path, Cyne, beware.”

When Cyne halted in his descent, she was so engrossed in watching the path ahead of him, she didn’t realize and ran square into his back. A very large, strong back, she noted as she kept her balance by holding onto Cyne’s sides. “What is wrong?”

He turned, his eyes alight with mischief, and swung her into his arms.

“Cyne! Put me down! We shall fall!”

He only held her tighter as he carried her the rest of the way down the cliff to the sand.
Aleene held tightly to his neck, now equally scared for both of them. So intent on protesting, Aleene did not realize they stood on level ground until Cyne let her slide from his arms. He held her still in the circle of his arms, looking down at her, a smug smile playing about his lips. And then he kissed her.

A light touching of their mouths, his still smiling, hers slightly open from her interrupted tirade. Not a long kiss like the night before, but so unexpected that the intimacy of the act ignited burning fires along Aleene’s nerve endings.

She closed her eyes, leaning into Cyne, not understanding the emotions that roiled through her while in this man’s presence. And he seemed completely oblivious to them, for he just pressed another kiss to her forehead and started for the shore.

The coolness that replaced the heat of his body shocked her, and she opened her eyes. She watched as he dropped the basket on the sand, sat next to it, and began tugging at the leather shoes on his feet. She yearned for him to be close to her again, kissing her mouth, holding her.

And so she went to him, sat beside him, felt the heat of his body next to hers. She looked up at his face and watched a lock of golden hair fall in his eyes, then reached, herself, to push it back.

He glanced at her, his eyes devoid of anything but the smile that lit his face. He nodded toward the water, then pointed at her feet, still shod in leather slippers. Finally, she realized fully what her husband intended, and she snapped out of her strange reverie.

“No, Cyne, it is too cold.” She shook her head, sighed and turned to the basket of food. Her thoughts had taken flight into the clouds it was as if another woman sat with her husband. For she certainly did not think of people and want to be physically close to them. She took her veil from the basket and spread it on the ground, then sat the food on top of it. “We should have thought to bring a blanket, but with you taking off so quickly, and . . .” Aleene looked up to where her husband had been and saw only sand. She jerked around quickly, searching the shore for Cyne.

A great yell rent the air, bringing Aleene to her feet, her heart beating double time within her breast.

A
loud splash directed her gaze to the water, and Aleene saw her husband. He flung his head, throwing sparkling beads of water through the air, raised his arms and yelled again, loud, deep, and lusty.

Aleene sat stunned. It was the first time she had heard her husband’s voice. Unlike his mannerisms, it was not childlike. Aleene stood slowly, her eyes glued to the expanse of Cyne’s bare chest. It glistened in the warm sun, a mat of golden hair holding crystals of water. Aleene advanced, her mind overcome, once again, with her husband’s beauty.

Finally, she wrenched her gaze from his chest, only to encounter eyes like amethysts. “Wha . . . what in heaven’s name are you doing?” She now stood at the edge of the water. A wave rolled onto shore, drenching her shoes. As the water seeped through the leather, she shivered. “It is freezing, Cyne, you will catch your death!”

He laughed, a deep, rich, moving, beautiful sound, more beautiful, even, than himself.

A small wave crashed against his back, and he disappeared. Startled, Aleene froze, her heart shrinking in on itself in fear. Then she moved, quickly, ignoring the shock of cold against her legs as she pulled herself through the water.

“Aha!” He came up again, just in front of her, his smile large, his hair streaming across
his shoulders.

“You!” Aleene pushed against his chest, the icy contact chilling her. “You scared me nigh unto death, you beast!” But the anger in her voice quickly dissolved. In fact, she laughed.

And he laughed with her.

Another wave hit them, and Cyne grabbed her, holding her upright. With a tiny screech, Aleene put her arms around Cyne’s neck. “It is freezing! And now my clothes are soaking.”

He only smiled at her as another wave surged around them, tilting them against each other. Aleene felt the warmth of her husband’s great body seep through her wet clothing.

The wave drew back out to sea. She took a deep breath as it left, knowing that another would come, pulsing around them, pushing her against Cyne. And it did come, whirling about her thighs, her clothes swirling up around her hips, her husband’s hands imitating the rhythm of the waves against her back.

She closed her eyes and leaned into Cyne’s warmth and shivered, but she wasn’t cold. For the second time that day Cyne swept her up into his arms. Aleene gasped, opening her eyes quickly and tightening her arms around her husband’s neck. Guileless eyes looked into hers, and she realized with a strange, poignant pang that her body had sung a strange new song of desire, alone.