The Fatal Crown (33 page)

Stephen reached the wall and turned, remembering, with a pang, how beautiful she had appeared at the feast. Her gray eyes, almost charcoal against the milky pallor of her face, had been swimming with unshed tears; her coral lips, trembling slightly, had the look of a vulnerable, hurt child. Her bosom, heaving with suppressed emotion, strained against the shimmering green silk of her tunic, and he had wanted to reassure her even as he felt his loins stir with desire.

A faint sound caught his attention. Looking up, he saw a wraithlike form gliding toward him.

“Stephen.”

The whispered voice floating eerily across the courtyard was familiar. As the form came closer he recognized Maud, and caught his breath. With her hair flowing down her back, her face silvery in the moonlight, she looked like a ghost.

“What do you here, Cousin?” Stephen asked, glancing anxiously around to see if any of the guards were in sight.

“I saw you from my window,” Maud replied, her voice shaking. Distraught, she stopped to collect herself. “I can’t understand why you’re so cold. What have I done to offend you? I believed—I thought that between us … I—” Her voice choked and she could not continue.

Stephen felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart. With a supreme effort he stopped himself from taking her into his arms.

“Forgive me, I handled matters very badly, and I do intend to explain,” he said, forcing his voice to sound calm and reasonable. “I didn’t mean to be so cold, but there was simply no opportunity to tell you how matters now stood.”

“And how do they stand?” she asked in a low, intense tone.

“Whatever our feelings for each other may have been,” Stephen began tentatively, “it is unthinkable that we should continue—that is to say, there cannot be any repetition of what happened between us. You are also married now, with grave responsibilities. It is too dangerous, and no good can come of it. We must dismiss any thought—”

“But I love you,” she interjected fiercely, her eyes enormous. “I thought you loved me.”

Stephen did not speak. Love? Yes, in his own way, he loved her. But in truth the concept had little meaning for him. Certainly he found her exciting, responsive, empathetic, and infinitely desirable; he wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life. But love?

He was spared the necessity of answering by the return of the watch.

“A fine night, my lord,” one of the guards called, with a snicker in his voice.

Thank God it was too dark for him to recognize Maud.

“Indeed,” he rejoined, quickly pulling her into his arms.

The gesture had been made to conceal her identity, but the moment Maud’s body touched his, Stephen knew he had made a fatal mistake. Her response was immediate, like a torch set to dry brush. The dark mantle she wore fell away as her arms suddenly twined round his neck, and he could tell that under the loose tunic she wore no gown. Her breasts felt heavy and firm, the points hardening against his chest; her thighs pressed close to his, and her heart thudded against his ribs. Maud’s head fell back, her eyes closed, and her lips parted. Stephen was not prepared for the flame of desire that swept through him, scorching in its intensity; he had forgotten this treacherous tide of feeling that overcame reason, duty, even his own sense of survival.

For a moment he stared transfixed at her upturned face, then hungrily covered the waiting lips with his own. Her mouth was warm and tasted of honey, and as Stephen felt the curves of her body mold to his own the last of his resistance melted like wax before flame. His hands sought the fullness of her breasts and his fingers caressed the hard pointed nipples through the cloth of her garment. When he heard her ragged breath, he pulled up the skirts of her tunic and chemise, slid a hand down the length of her soft belly and found the silky mound of her sex. She was warm, moist, and throbbing with her need of him. Her body trembled when his fingers touched her and a choked gasp escaped her lips. Intoxicated by her response, his senses reeling, it was all he could do not to take her right where they stood.

The sound of footsteps forced them quickly apart. Maud pulled down her garments and turned her back just as two guards passed by on the other side of the courtyard. Deep in conversation they gave Stephen and Maud an incurious glance, and passed on.

“This is madness,” Stephen whispered, his heart pounding. “Someone is sure to recognize you. I beg you go inside lest I take you here and now and destroy us all.”

Maud, her face radiant in the moonlight, gave him a tremulous smile. In a moment she was gone, gliding away with an easy grace, leaving him alone in the moonlit courtyard with aching loins and the knowledge that he was once again enslaved.

Stephen returned to his chamber, and fell into an uneasy sleep. Next morning he was tense and out of sorts, his desire to possess Maud a raging thirst demanding to be quenched. Unable to decide on a course of action that would ease the conflict, somehow he managed to get through the day. That night, hoping to blot out his cousin’s image, he made love to his dutifully submissive wife. But far from satisfying him, the night’s work only served to increase his hunger for Maud.

For the next few days reason continued to war against need. When he saw Maud at meals or in company with her father, the connection between them was so strong, he was sure everyone must notice it. What was he to do? If his brother were here, Henry’s cold logic might have a dampening effect on his ardor. But the Bishop of Winchester was busy attending to his newly acquired See and had not attended the court. He was alone; only Matilda’s continued presence prevented him from committing what instinct told him would be an irreparable folly. In any case there was nowhere to bed his cousin, as the castle afforded no privacy. Day in and day out both he and Maud were surrounded by people.

A week later the festivities were over. Matilda and the children left Windsor in company with Robin of Leicester’s wife, Arnica. Their departure was followed by that of King Henry and Queen Alix. Maud seemed in no hurry to return to London, and Stephen found himself making excuses not to go. Brian and Robert left for their respective lands, and Waleran of Muelan returned to Normandy. Robin of Leicester stayed on.

The remainder of the barons left and the castle was now virtually empty, with only the castellan and a skeleton staff left to service the needs of the few remaining guests.

The morning after everyone had gone, Stephen, restless and chafing for action, decided to go hawking. He collected Gervase, searched in vain for Robin, then walked down to the falcon mews. After careful deliberation, he decided on a white peregrine from Iceland, similar to one he had at the Tower. Her head was covered in an old leather hood adorned with bright feathers and faded gold thread. The bells attached to her feet were of tarnished silver and inscribed with the insignia of his grandfather, Duke William of Normandy.

The bells had rung for Tierce when Stephen and Gervase rode over the drawbridge and onto a wide road that led to the river. With the falcon perched on his wrist, Stephen was followed on foot by the fewterer who led two hounds: a bercelet who hunted by sight, and a brachet who hunted by scent. They followed a well-worn path along the Thames embankment, then veered away from the river. Soon the castle was lost to view. Presently they came to a large meadow backed by a dark forest.

Unleashed, the hounds bounded out of sight in the green sea of grass. Moments later a flock of squawking partridges flew upwards. Stephen unhooded his falcon and cast her off his wrist. She mounted into the deep blue of the sky, positioning herself above one of the birds. In a flash of white she stooped, digging her talons into the gray partridge. The stricken bird flapped lower and lower, carrying the falcon into the woods flanking the meadow.

“Jesu!” Stephen exclaimed to his squire. “I must go into the woods after her. Wait here in case she flies back. I will take the dogs.”

He rode to the edge of the woods, dismounted, and plunged into the trees while Gervase and the fewterer waited in the meadow. A few feet into the forest, Stephen found himself on what had once been a well-marked path, now overgrown with brambles and thick foliage. The dogs raced ahead and were lost to view. Making his way through the thick underbrush, he suddenly found himself in an open clearing. In the center, beside a small cabin made of rough-hewn logs, the falcon, its white head covered in blood, had bought her quarry to ground. The dogs were nowhere in sight. Stephen called softly to the bird, withdrew a dead pigeon from the large purse at his belt and threw it to the ground. Leaving the dead partridge, the falcon flew to her reward.

Curious, Stephen walked up to the cabin, which resembled an old hunting lodge that had seen better days. Suddenly he heard the sound of a groan coming through the partially opened door and froze in his tracks. Careful to make no sound, Stephen withdrew the knife at his belt, crept up to the door and, holding the knife aloft, peered inside. What he saw made him catch his breath. Robin of Leicester lay naked on a wide bedspread with a faded blue coverlet, fondling a slender youth whom Stephen vaguely remembered seeing about the castle. One of the pages or someone’s squire, he thought. It was the boy, writhing in the grip of pleasure, who had groaned.

Stephen’s foot scraped against the door, and he hastily stepped back, but not before Robin’s head had turned sharply. For an instant their eyes met. Without waiting to see more, Stephen sheathed his knife, and closed the door just as the two dogs, barking and wagging their tails, bounded into the clearing. The bercelet ran to the partridge and lifted her gently into his red jaws. Stephen called the falcon to him, hooded her, and went back into the forest, followed by the dogs.

He was surprised by what he had just witnessed, and uncertain what to make of it. Everyone was aware that men existed who enjoyed the favors of other men as well as women. In fact, he had heard that on the crusade to the Holy Land, sodomy was not uncommon, despite the strictures of Holy Church. But that one of these men should be his close friend, the Earl of Leicester of the powerful House of Muelan, one of the oldest and proudest families in Normandy—certainly this would take some getting used to.

“What is that old cabin in the clearing?” he asked the fewterer when he returned to the meadow.

“A hunting lodge, my lord, built for the old king, William Rufus, these many years ago. They do say Red Rufus used it for hunting prey other than game, if you take my meaning.” He winked at Stephen. “Not used now, of course.”

Stephen whistled softly. So this was where his infamous uncle, the Red King, had brought his catamites. What irony that it was being used for the same purpose now.

“You say no one uses this place?” he asked the fewterer as they rode out of the meadow.

“Not that I know of, my lord. The verderers keep it up in case the King wants to use it, but he never has done.”

Before he left the meadow, Stephen cast a quick glance behind him. It was not apparent from this vantage point that there was a path leading into the woods, much less a clearing with a lodge in it. Thoughtful, he rode back to Windsor.

After Vespers in the chapel, Stephen approached Robin and drew him aside.

“I’m sorry about this afternoon, Robin,” he said. “If I had had any idea—”

Robin met his gaze with steady blue eyes. “There is naught for you to be sorry about. Although I would be grateful for your discretion in this matter.”

“Naturally, I will say nothing. Does Waleran know—” Stephen paused. It was an awkward question and he could not think why he had asked it.

“Of my predilection?” Robin gave him a grim smile. “Naturally not. Waleran has no tolerance for anyone or anything that differs even slightly from his view of traditional values and custom. That is one of the reasons he has taken against Maud so strongly.”

Embarrassed, Stephen did not know what to say. “It is none of my affair, but Holy Church takes a dim view of such … practices. I trust you will be careful.”

Robin cocked his head to one side. “I see this matter is more of a trouble to you than to me. Be easy, my friend. I have long come to terms with my inner nature. After all, in the end we can only be what we are, whether for good or ill.” He searched Stephen’s face. “You must take me as I am, you know.”

With a sudden spurt of affection, Stephen grasped Robin’s hand. “And so I do, with all my heart. I judge no man because his tastes differ from mine. We need not speak of this again.” He took a deep breath. Attempting to keep his voice casual, he asked: “Is the lodge usually empty?”

“I have always found it so on the rare occasions when I make use of it. Why?”

“Well, in truth, there is a tempting wench here in the kitchens that I have long had my eye on—”

Robin held up his hand in silence. “You need not explain. To each his own. I will tell my squire to have the place in readiness. When do you wish to use it?”

Stephen thought for a moment. “Tomorrow, if all goes as planned. One more favor, by your leave. If necessary would you say that we go hunting together?”

Robin looked amused. “Of course. By God’s death, you take a lot of trouble for a kitchen wench, my friend. You can just as easily tumble her in the stables.”

Stephen grew red but was saved from answering by the steward’s horn calling the castle to supper.

When they came into the great hall, Stephen noticed that the castellan of Windsor was being served by a willowy youth with hair the color of ripe corn. Robin’s catamite. Stephen sat down next to Maud, who greeted him with a smile.

A dish of stewed hare was set before them. Stephen took a piece in his fingers, and carried it, dripping, to Maud’s mouth. She opened her lips and nibbled at the meat, playfully catching one of his fingers in her mouth. Inexplicably, the touch of her wet lips against his finger aroused him to fever pitch.

“Would you care to go hunting with me tomorrow?” he heard himself say.

“Yes,” she replied in a breathless voice.

Their eyes locked. Stephen remained on fire for the rest of the meal, barely able to refrain from touching her. He wondered how he would survive until tomorrow, so impatient was he to have his cousin at last.