Yearning Heart (27 page)
He shuddered.
Once he had given in to the hot feelings, had loved Rebecca as many times as he needed her, pouring his seed into her, leaving his son there, causing him to worry that he would lose both. He had lost the son, for truth, and just as well, Rebecca. She had not been happy after losing the child, had never given him love again as he had grown to expect from her.
And then, she had disappeared.
Now, another Christmas, she was back in his house, in his arms, but where was Rebecca's heart? Had she left it with Hugo? With the other minstrel—Stephen could not recall his name—but the strange-looking, red-haired one.
Rebecca was in New Sarem but not by choice. She was here because he had brought her here by force. She chose this life no more than she had the one at Glastonbury when forced to marry him. But he had thought her happy at the big, cold house near Moon Cliffs. There had been many hours of loving her, of having her come to him with warm, wet lips and a slender, writhing body to satisfy his needs.
He looked down the front of his trousers to the bulging muscle and swore. Servants struggling to their rooms with too much to drink heard heavy footsteps on the stairs then the slam of the courtyard door as the lord of the new manor house sought surcease from his hot-blooded thoughts.
* * * *
Rebecca lay stiffly on the soft mattress of the new bed. Her mind would not rest but wandered back to those long ago days at Glastonbury. She'd been unhappy there, and she'd been happy there. It had seemed that happiness would last forever—that Stephen had fallen in love with her, enjoyed her company as well as her body, her endless questions when he returned from London, her generous response to his lovemaking.
Thinking back, she acknowledged that all of the love had been on her side, that Stephen had seemed caring because he had his way at all times. She didn't argue, she didn't demand new clothing or to travel with him, didn't refuse him when he came to her bed. She was the perfect wife and so he had no reason to be displeased with her.
Until she became unhappy enough to run away.
She had brought Stephen's disapproval upon herself. It had been something she must do, get away from the husband who wanted nothing out of life that she did, who bore no likeness to the man she had married. It mattered not that she hadn't punished Stephen by her disappearance.
Her heart had shattered in the process.
Chapter Nineteen
The snow stopped falling, and a weak sun tried to outrun the clouds, but the fields were like white glass. Wisps of fog, like silent ghosts, veiled the tops of trees back of the outbuildings. Workers with their heads wrapped against the numbing cold looked like small animals as they bustled about the courtyard on errands or chores that couldn't be postponed because of bad weather. Animals had to be fed and cared for, and ice had to be broken from the troughs in order to give them drinking water.
Rebecca longed to be outside, just anywhere, doing anything that would get her out of the house, out from under Stephen's watchful eyes, away from Malvina's knowing looks. Rebecca imagined that her maidservant knew every time Stephen made love to her, every time they quarreled, every move they made. And she resented it. Oh, yes, she fair hated the thought that she couldn't breathe that Malvina didn't know—and report it to Stephen.
Rebecca, standing near the wide window back of the ovens where servants hovered over simmering pots, saw the horseman enter the courtyard, saw the guards question him, then hold the prancing steed while the man stiffly dismounted. He rubbed his shoulders and back, slapped heavy gloves along his legs, and followed Aubin towards the house. He stomped his feet, and Rebecca imagined they must be near frozen. Aubin opened the courtyard door, and the two of them disappeared.
He brings ill tidings, she thought. ‘Tis not the time for travel nor visiting in the country. Travel is not done in severely cold weather unless there is extreme need. It means trouble for Stephen. Blackness seemed to cover the struggling sun, and Rebecca shivered.
She moved quickly, passing Malvina as she talked with cook near an open fireplace. Malvina made as if to speak, but Rebecca did not look at her. At the steps, she hesitated, and then gathering her skirts, she ran, reaching the upper hall before the stranger entered.
Stephen came down the stairs from the floor above hers, and Rebecca waited until he came close to her. Her breath caught at the way he looked at her, his eyes going over her figure in the full-skirted dress that hugged her small waist. Those eyes said he wanted her, and before long, he'd have her. His lips curved in a smile.
“What say ye, Rebecca?” Stephen said. “Art hurrying to greet me, mayhap?”
“ ‘Tis trouble the messenger brings, is it not?”
“Messenger? What nonsense is this?” He glanced toward the great hall below them, then back at her.
“There is a man coming, he brings ill tidings. Something bad. Stephen, you cannot ...” She wanted to stop him from meeting the messenger, wanted to beseech him not to listen to whatever tale the man brought. Of a certainty, it could only be bad news.
Behind her, Rebecca heard the courtyard door open, the shuffling of feet, voices raised in greeting, and then in question.
“I must see Sir Stephen,” the man said. “I have a message from the king.”
* * * *
Stephen and the king's messenger were behind the closed doors of Stephen's rooms a goodly length of time. Rebecca walked from the window to the staircase that led to Stephen's rooms.
Malvina came to her. “My lady, there is hot soup awaiting. You must eat.”
She shook her head, paying little attention to the maidservant. Whatever part Malvina played in Stephen's life wasn't important just now. Her worry was over what she would hear once the traveler had finished talking with Stephen.
“But, My Lady—”
Rebecca whirled. “Leave me, Malvina. I'll let thee know when I am hungry.” She didn't even watch the woman stare in astonishment at Rebecca's sharp words, didn't notice when Malvina went slowly back down the stairs.
When the door to Stephen's rooms opened, Rebecca stood by the steps, waiting with Aubin. She had not been able to remain in her rooms, had been unable to sit still, knowing something was wrong for such a visit. She waited anxiously for Stephen's words.
He and the traveler reached the bottom of the stairs where she and Aubin waited.
Stephen's eyes sought hers, and then moved to Aubin.
“See that Alwain is fed and given a place for two hours’ rest. Then give him a good horse and food to see him to London.”
He turned to go back up the steps, and then swung around.
“Come, Rebecca,” he said. “We need to talk.”
He placed his hand on her arm and walked by her side until they reached his door, then he stood aside to let her enter.
“Thou art right. There is trouble.”
Stephen walked away, stood with his back to her, a fist clenched against the wooden mantle, his head bowed as he stared into the bright flames.
“What dost the king demand now?”
Stephen turned and shocked, Rebecca stared at the sadness in his face.
“Sir Thomas Becket has been murdered by four of the king's knights.”
She swayed and gasped. Of all the horrors she would have imagined, this was too far from reality to believe. The king had not had problems before this, this outrage. What could this mean to Stephen? The queen? Their children?
What could be done after this to salvage the kingdom? Trouble, yes, she had known, but not this shocking murder. The entire kingdom has been taken with insanity.
“Oh, Stephen. Canst be mistaken?” She wanted to go to him, to take his head to her breast, and comfort him. How he must hurt for his beloved king and queen. Even if she did sometimes scoff at his loyalty, she knew that Stephen did, indeed, honor the royal pair.
“Nay. ‘Tis true. The king asks that I return to London. I must go, Rebecca.”
“No, Stephen. King Henry is frightened for what will happen once the people find what has been done in his name, but he will use you to shield himself. Let the king suffer his own penance.” She spoke quickly lest Stephen deny her the right to do so. “The men who killed Sir Thomas were trained and paid from the royal purse, and ‘tis the king, not you, who must see that justice is done. King Henry wishes you there to defend him against what he knows is coming. He deserves to face this trial without you to protect him.”
“Do not think to tell me what I shall do, Rebecca. It is a duty of the king's officers to serve him in troubled times as well as when things go right in the kingdom.”
“Why must thou be pigheaded? When has the king perceived that things go rightly enough that he doesn't need you? Hast thou not been in the king's business, yea even his love life ..?”
“Be quiet, Rebecca,” Stephen said. “Thou art my wife, not my advisor. Thou knows nothing of running a country or of keeping the people content. King Henry is a great ruler, albeit he makes mistakes. He ascended the throne in greatly troubled times and has succeeded in restoring peace to the country. He has brought about a revival of learning, of using logic, given his subjects prosperity and laws to protect them.” His fists clenched and unclenched, his lips pressed together as though in pain. “My loyalty lies with the king because he has earned it.”
Rebecca knew Stephen spoke the truth most times, but this incident could turn black and deadly, and he would be caught in the middle. Danger was very real for anyone trying to intervene in such a crime as the murder of an archbishop. The king would be in danger, and so would Stephen. Why could not he see this? Why did he rush to the king's bidding even into danger?
“Mayhap his marriage to Eleanor did the king no harm since she was a rich heiress. The king's lifestyle has not suffered for this. And mayhap he thought if he were rid of Sir Thomas, it would leave him an easier road. His sins are being visited upon his head at last.”
“Thou art reveling in business far beyond your knowledge.” He rubbed his hands over his face, scrubbing at his eyes. “Leave my chambers, Rebecca, as I must prepare for my journey. I do not know for how long.”
Rebecca talked as though to herself even as she tried to convince her husband not to rush into dangerous problems.
“In truth, Sir Thomas deserved to be defrocked.” Rebecca spoke to Stephen's back as he turned away. “He condemned our jongleur performances as evil without cause. Really, Stephen, all religions should be banned as heresy.” She went on, ignoring Stephen as he swung around to give her a strange look. “I do think murder is going afar.”
“The archbishop's office is the highest of royalty's vast kingdom. What dost thou know about such things?”
Stephen stared at Rebecca, wondering at her education in the company of minstrels, gypsies, and jongleurs. She was an innocent, schooled to be sure, but uncorrupted by the politics of a kingdom. He wanted to protect her from such, did not wish her to be exposed to wrongs committed by those in high offices.
She was his wife now, a lovely woman, but once Rebecca was an almost-ugly child with pale skin, large blue eyes and colorless hair. The once-dull hair now hung in glorious disarray over her shoulders, and her thin face had bloomed into lightly tinted creamy skin accenting eyes the shade of the evening sky above Moon Cliffs.
He scarcely heard his own questions as he looked at Rebecca, the one he wanted with fiercely heated loins. The one he loved beyond hope. He stepped closer to her.
“Why say this ... these outrageous words?” he said.
She turned, her lovely face serious, eyes darkened by her thoughts. She faced him, smiled, and Stephen's breath caught. He had not seen her smile for him in lo, such a long time. He could not believe her beauty.
“Methinks, Sir Stephen, the church is not as deserving of everything as Sir Thomas would have it. Do you not work hard for your keep?”
“My keep is not in question, Rebecca. It is King Henry's...”
“I do not agree with the king's beliefs, either.” She turned away once more. “He is a prostitute, a man who has no loyalty to his wife or his children.”
Stephen's eyebrows climbed at Rebecca's language.
“A prostitute? King Henry? A prostitute is a woman who...”
“A prostitute is a person who tastes of sex from those to whom he is not married. The king is a prostitute.”
Stephen was tempted to laugh. He had not thought of the king's sexual appetite as prostitution, but there was truth in Rebecca's words. He felt like snatching her up into his arms and bellowing with laughter, albeit the situation was not a comedy. She was too much an innocent to have such wicked thoughts.
Stephen swallowed hard before he said, “I must go, Rebecca. Send Aubin to help pack.”
“It is a dangerous road that you travel, Stephen. The king demands you come at such times he feels the need of support. Stay at New Sarum. Do not go. He deserves to do penance alone.”
“You do not understand the tragedy, nor that it will spread wide dissatisfaction throughout the kingdom. There will be need for level heads from someone the king trusts, so I must go.” He started into the next room, and then turned around.
“Kiss me goodbye.”
She did not move, startled by his request. He walked to her and waited. They were but a breath apart, so close she could see silver hairs threaded through the dark blond, and a web of laugh wrinkles at his eye corners. His lips were firm, warm looking, as he awaited her answer.
Her eyes locked with his and a tingle ran between her breasts as though Stephen caressed them. It seemed they filled with a hot juice that caused a tender ache. A warm quiver touched between her thighs, and she felt wet. He could do this to her just by looking, just by a request for a kiss. But a kiss from Stephen led to ....
“Put your arms around me and kiss me.” The demand was soft. “Kiss me hard, Rebecca, so that I ache with wanting you.”
He waited.
“Dost know I ache for you?”
“No, my lord.”
As I ache, she wished to add, but did not.
Rising up on the tips of her toes, Rebecca placed her hands on his shoulders, her mouth on Stephen's, felt the brush of his mustache. His lips remained closed, hot and firm beneath hers, and she felt his body tremble. Opening her mouth, she slid her tongue across his lips, then timidly, she pushed into the warm, moist inside of his mouth. She gasped at the heat that drew her legs together.