A Tapestry of Dreams (20 page)

Pushing all his problems to the back of his mind, Hugh looked with pleasure at the chamber that would be his for a week. He had never had a room to himself before, except for having slept in this same room on his previous visit to Jernaeve—only that night his eyes had been blind to outward things. He was familiar, of course, with the small rooms hollowed out inside the thick stone walls of a keep. This one was no different from others, lit only by what light came in from the open doorway to the antechamber, where a window was let into the wall facing the bailey, and by several pitch-headed torches in holders fixed to the walls.

A broad bench had been moved into the chamber and was covered with doubled fleeces to serve as a mattress. It stood back against the wall opposite the door, a chest with a stool beside it was placed before the wall dividing the little room from the hall, and there was a hearth on the side wall facing the bailey, with a slit above it that served to carry away some of the smoke. A small fire burned brightly on the flat slabs of stone in a hollow of the wall provided for the hearth.

Such luxury! Hugh sighed and moved farther into the room. Compared with the hall itself, this chamber was warm, cozy, and well lit. Moreover, Hugh had never had a private bath. In Helmsley he had bathed in the communal outbuilding reserved for the purpose, where he and a friend or two sloshed one another with water from a bucket. Looking at the size of the tub, Hugh had a moment’s doubt that he would fit, but the rising steam, showing the water was warm, and the clean, thick drying cloths warming by the fire convinced him that this was a luxury he must taste.

***

Having delivered her warning to Hugh and felt from his manner that he understood her, Eadyth went to find Audris. She had seen her niece leave by the door that led to the bailey, and the first servant she accosted told her with an intonation of awe reserved only for Audris that the Demoiselle had gone into the kitchen area. Eadyth smiled wryly. Although she managed Jernaeve, she might not be noticed as she passed through the keep, but there was never any difficulty finding Audris. Every person stopped work to watch Audris pass, to touch her gown or cloak if possible.

Eadyth found her niece, as she expected, in the outbuilding used to dry and store herbs, soap, and other household necessities. It was ordinary enough, too, to see her sniffing at an aromatic bundle. Part of Audris’s duty in caring for the castle garden was to decide what quantity of any particular plant to grow, and to do that, she had to examine the quantity and condition of the herbs that were stored. Glad to catch her niece alone, Eadyth combined a form of apology, saying she had not meant to hurt or embarrass Audris before a friend of Bruno’s, with a lecture on how her behavior toward Hugh might have been misinterpreted and caused the young man much pain.

Audris listened quietly and then said, “I will be more careful, aunt, I promise you.”

Eadyth was well content with that, knowing that Audris hated to hurt anyone. She dismissed the matter from her mind, turning her thoughts while she was in the kitchen area to checking on the cooks’ preparations to feed the fifty extra mouths. In the building behind her, Audris continued to choose herbs for a few minutes more and then silently left. With her she took a small parcel of herbs in a clean linen cloth, which she rhythmically twisted and bent and rubbed between her hands so that the dry, brittle stems and leaves were broken into a coarse powder. A delightful odor wafted from the bag, not sweet, but clean and spicy.

A small smile curved Audris’s lips as she climbed the dark, steep stair of the forebuilding. She had been more fortunate than she deserved, for her aunt had totally misunderstood her. She had not run away because she had been scolded but because when Eadyth said Hugh was to have a bath, an image of him naked had risen in her mind. The instant response of her body—a flood of warmth, a tightening in her groin, and a strange pleasurable throbbing between her legs—had startled her into retreat. She had found herself in the storeroom with no idea what she was doing there until the sharp aromatic scents reminded her that Eadyth often asked her for herbs to sweeten the bath water of noble guests. Then she had known why she had run to the storeroom.

As she entered the hall, Audris paused, wondering whether it was wise to enter Hugh’s chamber. Would the servants tell Eadyth? And would her aunt think her action strange after she had been warned not to lead Hugh astray with signs of favor? Common sense bade her go back to her tower until she was called for the evening meal, but her desire prodded her forward, her feet carried her lightly ahead, and the smile that had faded with her doubts came back to her lips. Probably the servants would say nothing about her to her aunt, and even if they did, she could say she had just stepped in for a moment to bring the herbs. Eadyth would think it another mark of her heedless nature.

***

Hugh had not realized until he was immersed in the warm water and being scrubbed with a rough cloth how tired he was. The combined stress of worrying about Thurstan and his desire for Audris—a desire that he feared bordered on the dishonorable—had worn him down more than violent physical activity could. Now he simply leaned back against the staves of the tub with his eyes closed and let himself be soothed by the servants’ ministrations. He was only dimly aware of their low-voiced conversation, too indifferent to make the effort to understand what they were saying in their own guttural language, although he could comprehend some English when he tried. The murmur of talk added to his comfort, though, and when it stopped abruptly, Hugh opened his eyes—and choked.

Audris stood in the doorway, a small linen bag held forward as if she were about to offer it to the servants, but she did not speak, and her eyes, Hugh saw, were fixed on him. He was aware, too, that the servants had drawn back as if surprised or frightened and were watching Audris intently, but he had no time to wonder at
their
odd behavior. Audris’s was sending cold chills—and hot thrills—up and down his spine. Her failure to speak or shift her eyes, which might have been natural had she hesitated only briefly, had lasted far too long. She seemed dumbstruck by the sight of his body.

“Is there something you desire of me, Lady Audris?” Hugh had been desperate to break the silence, and his voice came out forced and harsh—but the words! He choked again as he realized what he had said.

Shocked by the harsh, angry-sounding voice, Audris breathed in sharply and lifted her eyes from Hugh’s body to his face. She saw at once that he was not angry—horrified would be a better description of his expression—and she wondered if she had again acted differently from other people. But simultaneously with the thought, the sense of what Hugh had said became clear. Irrepressible mischief brightened Audris’s eyes, and a giggle followed the intake of breath.

“Only to give you pleasure,” she said sweetly, as if she had no idea what her reply could mean in the context of his question, and advanced toward him.

Hugh was crammed so tightly into the tub, which was designed for smaller people than he, that it was impossible for him to move, except to get to his feet—and that would scarcely have helped. Nonetheless, instinctively he pressed back, away from Audris’s approach, his muscles rippling with the effort. Audris paused, her eyes slipping down over the broad shoulders, thick-muscled arms, and wide chest, all shining with water so that the uneven light from the torches gleamed and glittered as frustrated motion lifted or lowered bands of flesh under the skin. A last glance flicked farther down still, to the corded muscles of his powerful thighs. Her lips parted, and quick as a snake’s her tongue flicked across them.

Hugh very nearly did erupt from the water, but her expression of greedy avidity was gone, and she was coming forward again. He had one flash of doubt whether the girl was sane before she opened the cloth and sprinkled the powdered herbs into the bathwater. The warmth and moisture released the scent even more powerfully, and the room filled with the sharp, clean odor. Everyone breathed in deeply, even Hugh.

“There,” Audris said, chuckling. “Does that not give you pleasure? Good herbs add much enjoyment to a bath and a sweetness to the body afterward.”

“Little witch,” Hugh breathed, too softly for the ears of the servants to catch the words, and then, more loudly, “Wait until tomorrow, Demoiselle. I will show you then how grateful I am.”

Audris laughed, acknowledging the hidden, playful threat, cast one more lingering glance over Hugh’s body—and saw the head of his shaft rearing upward between his thighs. She turned and fled, this time to the safety of her tower, where she stood staring at her loom, seeing the completed picture. Was it foretelling? If so, Hugh was only teasing her as she had teased him—or did that swollen shaft speak the truth hidden under playful words? Then there was no foretelling in the picture, and… and what? A vivid image of Hugh rose in her mind. He was very fair where sun and wind had not tanned his skin and not at all hairy. Only a narrow, inverted triangle of curly hair, as red as that on his head, spread across his chest at the base of his throat and ran down his breastbone nearly to his navel. Below that she had seen only dimly because of the bathwater, but it seemed that a thinner band of hair grew from the navel to the thick pubic bush—from which that straining shaft had risen.

Slowly Audris moved away from the loom and sat in her chair. If her picture were not foretelling, on the morrow she would no longer be a maiden. The pulsing in her groin grew more insistent. Audris shifted in her chair and sighed. She knew now that she wanted Hugh as the mare desired the stallion or the doe the buck. Strong sexual images flowed through her mind, and she trembled with need, hugging her arms across her body and hunching her shoulders to free her sensitized nipples from the inflaming touches of her shift. But she was not a mare or a doe. Even as her mind insinuated Hugh and his roused manhood into the male role of her images and she bit her lips with longing, she was aware that for her there must be more than the mating and the parting. Was her unicorn no more than a white bull? Did she want a white bull who moved from cow to cow without thought or regret? Yet if her unicorn were pure, must not her desire remain unfulfilled?

Her thoughts went round and round until they were broken by a gentle touch on her arm. Audris started. The candles were alight in her chamber, and Fritha was making the gestures for food and a query—meaning did Audris want her to fetch food or did she prefer to go down herself? Audris hesitated and then rose and straightened her gown. She was no coward, and she was unused to indecision and doubt—she wanted an answer.

She did not obtain one. Although Hugh was formally courteous, choosing the best of the food for her and cutting or breaking it into the small pieces deemed suitable for a fine lady, his conversation was directed almost exclusively to her uncle. There were a few new pieces of news, gleaned from Thurstan and from their host in the place they had lodged the past night. Beyond that, Hugh confined himself to general talk of male interest.

Tense as a bowstring when she sat down beside him, Audris was soon ready to laugh at herself. Unicorn or bull, she had good reason to believe the man behind the symbol clever. No matter what Hugh’s intention for the following day, he would not betray himself to her aunt and uncle. They, Audris could see, were well satisfied. She could not help smiling when her aunt nodded approvingly at her, but the smile was not actually in recognition of Eadyth’s approval. Audris had realized that Hugh not only had himself been a model of propriety but, without a look or a word, had forced
her
to behave just as she should.

Only after the meal was ended and the washing water and towels brought to clean their hands, did Hugh mention their proposed ride the next day. He rose and bowed to Oliver and Eadyth. “If you will pardon me, I will seek my bed, for I am weary.” And when both had expressed polite concern and approval, he turned fully to Audris, which made his face invisible to her aunt and uncle. Bowing again, he said, “I will be ready to attend you after Mass, Demoiselle, if the weather permits.” And brought his lid down over his right eye with a slow deliberation that was as challenging as a laugh.

There was a tender mist still hanging over the river and spreading across the hills when Audris, Hugh, and Fritha rode out of Jernaeve. The mist was not so dense, however, as to obscure the sun or the fact that the sky beyond it was all but cloudless. It only lent enchantment to the landscape, softening the stark shapes of protruding rocks, giving a pearly opalescence to the fresh, pale green of the new leaves on the trees, and making the morning twittering of birds into unearthly music.

Struck by the beauty of the scene, Hugh and Audris were silent as they rode out of the keep and across the demesne meadows where the Fermain cattle grazed on the lush grass of spring. They had not said much to each other yet, for Hugh had come up from attending Mass in the tiny church in the bailey to find Audris, dressed for riding, breaking her fast with her uncle and aunt. He wore only hunting garb, a short homespun wool tunic that came to the middle of his thighs over chausses of the same material and a bright red wool cloak. Before they left, Hugh had fetched his sword and his shield from his chamber, and Sir Oliver shrugged. Clearly he did not think weapons would be needed, but did not object either.

Fritha was waiting at the door, laden with blankets and bags, and Hugh cast a glance at her and raised a brow. He said nothing until they were in the stable, but while the horses and Fritha’s mule were being saddled, he had asked, “Why did you bring her?”

And Audris had said, “For convenience and my uncle’s ease of mind. Do not consider her, she is loyal to me—and she is mute.”

An odd expression crossed Hugh’s face, and he had looked as if he were going to say something; if so, he thought better of it, and went to fasten the sword and shield to appropriate places on his saddle. He had not spoken again until, halfway across the pasture, with the hills silver and sparkling in the sunlit mist rising before them, he drew a deep breath and said, “I love this land.”

“Jernaeve?” Audris asked, surprised.

Hugh turned his head to smile at her. “No, I meant this northland. The Southrons say it is poor and barren, and I have seen that to be true, but I do not care. This is my place, and I am content with it. Do you love only Jernaeve?”

“I love the hills and fields,” Audris replied after a slight hesitation, for once thinking before she spoke. “Jernaeve is the only place I know, so I cannot say for certain, but I think so long as there were forests and high, bare cliffs and I were free to wander about them, I would not care whether the place were named Jernaeve or otherwise. I am not like my uncle or Bruno. Jernaeve is Uncle Oliver’s life—his reason for living. And Bruno’s heart is in Jernaeve.”

“It is his homeplace,” Hugh said somberly. “He has nothing else to cling to.”

Audris knew it was not only Bruno of whom he was speaking. “And you?” she asked so softly that only the pure, clear quality of her voice permitted the question to be heard above the dull sounds of the horses’ hooves.

“I have Sir Walter, who loves me, and my foster father, Thurstan.”

His answer was firm, but in it Audris sensed fear and uncertainty. To probe further would hurt him, but to change the subject completely would hurt also. “How did you come into Thurstan’s care?” she asked, feeling that he must have told that tale many times and whatever hurt was in it would be dulled by familiarity.

It was a less painful subject than she realized, because, unlike many foundlings, Hugh knew his mother had not willingly abandoned him. The poor woman could not help dying, and she had, from what Thurstan said, struggled to her very last breath to do her best for her child. Hugh cheerfully related what Thurstan had told him.

“But was there no hint at all of who your mother was in what was said by the sisters who attended her?” Audris asked when he had outlined the events.

Hugh laughed. “To speak the truth, I have been so busy and concerned with other things that I have not once looked at the parchment Thurstan gave me. Can it matter?”

“Of course it matters!” Audris cried. “What if there is an old mother or a sister or brother who loved your mother and has feared and wept for all these years, never knowing what had become of her? I am sorry enough that Bruno cannot make his home here with me, but I have never had to fear that he was suffering or dead and I did not know.”

“Mea culpa,”
Hugh breathed. “In my selfishness I never thought of that. God forgive me, for I have sinned out of pride, thinking I would not humble myself to those who did not care enough to come or send a message to the convent where I was born—but perhaps they did not know. If my mother hid herself for shame—”

“Why shame?” Audris asked sharply. “There might be many reasons for a woman to hide herself. If her keep were taken or her husband a rebel, innocent as she herself was, she might hide. You must examine the parchment closely when you can and not think—”

“I have it here in my saddlebag,” Hugh interrupted, smiling again at her vehemence. “I forgot all about it.” Having said that, he frowned and then sighed. “Perhaps I wanted to forget. Perhaps I fear to find that my father was some low-bred churl—”

“And will that make you less you? You talk as silly as Bruno does.” Audris nudged her horse closer to Hugh’s and held out her hand to him. When he took it in his, she squeezed gently. “There is a place on the east side of the hill where the sunlight comes first. The grass will be nearly dry there, and we can wait until the mist clears. Shall we look at your parchment?”

“If you wish,” Hugh agreed, partly because he could say nothing else but also because there was comfort to be found in sympathetic companionship, but he was still uneasy, and changed the subject by asking, “And what will we do after the mist clears—no, before you answer that, tell me how you wheedled Sir Oliver into virtually ordering me to accompany you.”

“That needed no wheedling.” Audris laughed. “I only had to remind him that you would soon be bored, having nothing to do in the keep, and would doubtless like to accompany him as he rode the lands. My uncle is not a man who cares much for company.”

“I would not have guessed that from his questions at the meals we shared,” Hugh remarked.

“Questions to obtain information are different. It is idle chatter, such as comment on the good or bad points of the stock or the weather or the possibilities for a good harvest—suchlike talk bores him.”

“Very practical.”

Hugh chuckled, but he looked sidelong at Audris, remembering how silent her aunt had been and thinking that it was no wonder Audris valued Bruno and wished for him. She must be starved for a friend, for someone to talk with, and that confirmed the solution to Audris’s behavior that had finally occurred to him after she had run away. He knew that she had seen his physical arousal and fled from it, not because she was ignorant or innocent in the sense of lacking understanding of what the arousal meant—that was impossible for a woman of her age, especially one who spoke so familiarly about mares and stallions. Nor did Hugh believe she was frightened, for he had seen the desire in her face when she looked at his naked body.

Audris, he had come to understand, acted first and thought later. It was that conclusion that had prompted him to behave so calmly at the evening meal; he knew it must be his responsibility to think ahead for both of them. Not that she lacked the ability to think—her management of her uncle proved that—but sheltered as she was, she had never had a real reason to curb her openness and impulsiveness. Hugh also knew what would happen if he offered a suggestive word or gesture when they dismounted as Audris planned. She would offer herself to him as openly and innocently as a young doe, with no more thought for what might follow her action than a doe’s. He could not permit that, no matter how his body raged with desire. He must
make
her think. After that…

“You are right about one thing, though,” Audris said, breaking the little silence that had fallen. “It was very odd that my uncle nearly fell into your arms and pressed you so straitly to come with me. It was not like him at all.”

“Perhaps he thought my presence would prevent you from going somewhere or doing something he disapproved?” For just an instant jealousy reared its leering head, and Hugh wondered whether the hunger betrayed by the swift flick of Audris’s tongue over her parted lips could be felt by one utterly innocent.

“But he knew what I wished to do,” Audris assured Hugh. “He did forbid me to climb to the falcon’s nest on the cliffs for fear some rock, loosened by the rain, might fall, but after I said that you would hold me on a rope, he—he did not approve, but he did not forbid me.” She saw the look of horror on Hugh’s face, and fearing he believed that she was forcing him into the difficult position of secretly helping her commit an act of disobedience, she added hastily, “I would not disobey my uncle in what he straitly forbade.”

Hugh scarcely heard the last sentence. “Hold you on a rope,” he repeated incredulously, even more horrified than if she
had
admitted she usually met a lover when she rode out alone. “You cannot mean what you say.”

Audris’s apparent fragility had become familiar enough that Hugh was no longer constantly aware of it, but her casual talk of hanging over a cliff on a rope brought into vivid focus the translucent skin over the fine, light bones of her face and the narrow, long-fingered hands, seemingly as delicate and frangible as the limbs of a songbird.

“But Uncle Oliver told you—” Audris began, and then began to laugh as revelation came to her. She recalled that her uncle had said nothing about hawk nests, only suggested that Hugh ride out with his niece. Now Audris knew why Oliver had been so cordial and so urgent; he had
expected
Hugh to be horrified and refuse her.

The joyous trills of laughter woke memories in Hugh also. He saw the expression on Bruno’s face more than a year past and heard him curse himself for teaching Audris to climb. Audris had laughed then, too, cozening her half brother, calling him dearling, and distracting them— No, she had not. That greedy pig Lusors had interrupted them, and the subject of climbing had been buried under more immediate tensions. Now Audris was shaking her head.

“I have been taken in my own snare,” she said merrily. “I thought I had been so clever and maneuvered my uncle into agreeing that I could go on the cliffs, for he did not say a word against it after I told him you would hold me and not let me fall, and instead he put you in as his champion—all unknowing, too.” She laughed again and then, still smiling, shrugged. “Ah, well, let it be. I will just check the nests in the lower forest.”

“And how do you do that?” Hugh asked.

Audris’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I climb the trees. Uncle does not think it proper, but he knows it is not dangerous, so—” She stopped speaking suddenly and stopped her mare, gesturing for Hugh to stop also, and then whispered, “Oh, look, is that not like the land of faerie?”

They had come to the crest of the rather low ridge, which fell away in a gentle slope to the east, much like the rise they had climbed. To the north, the spine of the ridge continued to rise more and more steeply until it culminated in a sheer but broken face of rock. If one looked eastward, though, ignoring the wild and threatening jumble to the north, one saw only the beauty of the small valley created by a minor tributary of the river. The mist was so thin now that the sparkling stream, the slender saplings that bordered it, and the single buck drinking at its edge were all clearly visible. Nonetheless, all seemed to be swathed in the most delicate of veils, which gave an aura of unreality and mysterious loveliness to the scene. Hugh did not dare speak lest his deeper voice carry and betray them, but soon his stallion stamped and snorted. The buck lifted his wide-horned head, silver streams of water raining from his muzzle. One moment more he stood, then turned and fled.

Audris breathed a tremulous sigh and looked up at Hugh’s face, but his eyes were still on the misty valley; they were luminous with love, and his lips were relaxed and soft, his whole expression one of peace and contentment, Then he blinked, drew a sharp breath, and looked with practical attention at the area.

Audris noted the change. “Do you think to hunt him tomorrow?” she asked neutrally.

Hugh turned his head, looking startled. “God forbid! He has given me such pleasure, I only wish he could be marked somehow to make him safe. If I hunt by your uncle’s invitation, I will go south and west. Not here. I could not spill blood here.” Then his lips twisted. “I daresay you think me a fool. I am sure many hunts have passed over this valley.”

“I cannot say whether others might think you a fool,” Audris said softly, “for I do not always think as others do. To me, you are not. I do not think it foolish to be grateful for a gift that brings so much delight or to wish to keep the bringer safe in the hope the gift will be renewed.” She smiled at him. “There is no hunting in this valley, except with hawks. I begged my uncle to spare it many years ago, and so far he has done so.”

Hugh nodded without answering. He thought it kind of Sir Oliver to leave Audris’s valley untouched, but knew it was not a great sacrifice, for it was small and the deer could escape easily up slopes and into woodlands with much low growth that would make pursuit on horseback unpleasant and frustrating. Audris had prodded her mare forward gently, and Hugh followed, but she did not go far. Perhaps some fifty yards from the top the slope flattened in a rough semicircle. On either side of the level patch the decline was regular, but a huge boulder or an intrusion of harder rock had not worn away as quickly as the rest of the hillside. Over the years, soil wearing from the crest above had packed down on the firm base so that now the lip of the semicircular table ended in a sharp dropoff. It was not more than fifteen or twenty feet high, but from below they would be invisible if they sat or lay a few feet back from the edge, yet sitting they would be able to look down into the valley.

A slithering sound made Hugh turn, his sword half drawn, but it was only Fritha coming on foot with the rolled blankets in her arms. Without instruction she undid the blankets’ lashings and spread them. Hugh dismounted quickly, but before he could come to Audris’s aid she had slid down herself and handed her rein to the maid.