Avelynn (14 page)

After three more courses of hard and soft cheeses, roasted vegetables, and a bowl of pheasant soup, Ealhswith assured me she was satiated. We left her entourage to lounge in comfort in the hall and strolled the road through the village. The sky was dull and overcast; puffs of cloud, in variants of gray, raced overhead, rolling to a gloomy horizon.

“Maybe you could leave? Your mother was a good friend of Lady Judith in Flanders; perhaps you could go there? Find an honorable position at King Charles's court?”

“I can't leave Wedmore. My life is here, with my stubborn father, and Edward.” I swept my arm, indicating the small island of habitation around me. “These people will be my ward one day, this manor my own. I can't just desert them and run away.”

“Avelynn, in your absence, Edward would rule Wedmore. He would treat the people with as much respect and clemency as you.”

“My father has given me a great gift by including me in his legacy. If I run, what would I have to leave my children—the threadbare cloak off my back, a gaudy bauble or two? You spoke of security for your child. I want nothing less.”

“But Demas will take Wedmore from you. Wouldn't it be better to leave England and ensure that the people you so care about are safe in Edward's hands? And who's to say you do not meet some handsome nobleman in Francia who can provide property and security for your children, and who also steals your heart and inflames the passion you so crave?”

“Perhaps.”

I clung to the hope that my father might still change his mind. But if he didn't, if the months spent with Demas only hardened his resolve … I gazed into the leaden sky. But Francia was so far away, and I couldn't be certain Judith would take me in. And if she did, I would rank no better than a lowly chambermaid. No man of station would stoop low enough to marry a servant. As for stealing and inflaming my heart, a nobleman may debase himself long enough to entertain a bawdy roll in the hay with a pretty, young servant, but would I ever again feel the passion that I shared with Alrik?

A vision of Alrik, his lips full and parted, his clear blue eyes burning beneath white-blond lashes, flashed unbesought in my mind.

“You're blushing.”

I turned away and stared at a large rock in the distance. The curve and contours of its surface made it appear to be a man hunched over in pain.

Ealhswith moved to face me. “What have you been up to?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing indeed!” She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward a field of burgeoning wheat, far away from prying ears and prattling tongues.

At the edge of the field she stopped. Tidy rows of new shoots peeked through the soil, their long, slender green leaves swaying in the cool breeze.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and looked at me expectantly.

“I may have met someone.”

“Really? I never would have guessed.”

“He was just passing through … a merchant.” I danced, walking a fine line between divulgence and full disclosure. “He was very handsome, and when we met there was a connection. I can't really explain it, except to say it was very powerful. It afflicted both of us … and we kissed.” I squirmed under the scrutiny of her gaze.

“Avelynn! Who is he? Where is he? Is he coming back?”

“He promised to come back. But it doesn't matter. I can't possibly see him again.”

“Why ever not?”

“Because nothing can come of it. I'm betrothed to Demas.”

“So?”

I gaped at her, and she laughed. She tucked my arm in hers and led me to the large rock I had seen earlier. She hauled me down on its broad sloping surface. “Did I ever tell you about Regin?”

“No.”

“Just after my betrothal to Alfred, but several months before our celebrated nuptials, my father sent me to Leicester to live amongst the nuns, in an attempt to further my refinement.” She sniggered at the thought. “But alas, I wasn't there long before I became rather distracted with a handsome young rogue named Regin. He quite thoroughly dishonored me.”

“Ealhswith!”

“I didn't know Alfred. I didn't know what my life was going to hold, and I was terrified. I hated my father for matching me with a complete stranger. I was angry and a little rebellious. Regin swept me off my feet. He lavished me with praise and flattery and quite literally charmed me into his bed.” She stroked my hand. “I cannot feel what I did was wrong. The opportunity to experience life in all its passion and vivacity was too good to pass up. So I jumped in and savored every last drop.”

“But you were betrothed.”

“Who was hurt by my transgressions? Alfred doesn't know, and my father never found out. A little chicken blood on the marital sheets appeases even the most meddlesome priest. I had a beautiful, passionate love affair—a memory I will cherish all my life.”

I fiddled with the fringe of my cloak.

“Why can't you have the same thing? In your heart, you know the type of marriage you will have with Demas. Why not pluck a little fruit from the tree of life and taste its sweetness before you commit your soul to hell?”

Gods, how easy it would be to give in to the temptation.

“What are you afraid of?”

“Everything. Getting caught…” Getting hurt.

“There's an old woman who lives near the swamps. She deals in secrets. She knows how to keep things hidden or stop them from ever transpiring. If you'd like to see your paramour again, you need to visit this woman first.”

“Why?”

“The last thing you need is a child to announce to the world your indiscretions. The key is to be discreet, tell no one, and don't give anyone a reason to doubt you. She'll give you a tincture to stop the man's spirit from conquering yours, and no child will grow in your womb.”

“I hadn't even thought about that.” I groaned and dropped my head into my hands.

“That's why I'm here, to help you think of everything. Now, when's he coming back?”

“Full moon,” I answered dismally.

“Then we have much to do between now and then.” She rose. “Do you want to see him again?”

“I don't know.”

“Really, you don't know? If he isn't worth it, then perhaps we should let the matter lie.”

“But I'm afraid.”

“That just makes it all the more thrilling.” She pulled me to my feet. “I'll do everything in my power to help you. You can say you're coming to visit me. I'll go to the manor at Chippenham. That'll be near the babe's expected time of birth. It would be only natural that I would want you there. And once you arrive, I'll say you have taken ill and need bed rest. You can sneak away under cover of night and meet him.” Her eyes gleamed with mischief.

“Chippenham is too far, it would take over a day to reach our rendezvous point.” I closed my eyes. I couldn't believe I was considering this. “Bath might work.”

She clapped her hands and embraced me. “Bath it is, then.”

*   *   *

Ealhswith's words rang in my mind, swooping and diving, leading me in tangled circles. I clasped my head in my hands and moaned.

“Is everything alright, m'lady?” Nelda asked.

“I'm fine. Just a headache from staring too long at these records.”

Afraid that Bertram would see through my erratic moods and start asking questions, I insisted that we divide the difficult task. While I tried to sort through this year's accounts, Bertram, comfortable in his own home, would see to last year's tally.

I rubbed the furrow between my eyes. “Nothing some fresh air won't cure.” I stood, brushing down the wrinkles in my dress, and grabbed my cloak.

The sun was setting, a bloodred orb hovering just above the horizon. It had been more than a week since Ealhswith's visit, and I couldn't think of anything else, except of course our conversation's terrifying implications—I would see Alrik again. At the thought, my heart raced and my throat constricted.

The previous few days had been intense. Each of my senses was heightened. Colors were brighter, sounds louder, flavors and textures of food more pronounced. I felt the slightest stirring of the hairs on my arms, the restless brushing of my clothes against my body. And I felt as though everyone were watching me, as though they knew what I planned to do.

Black clouds clung to the sun, their dark razing claws piercing and dragging the brilliant red sphere from this earthly plane, pulling it to the underworld. Once the clouds vanquished the light, the world would remain in darkness. It was the new moon tonight—half a month had passed.

I wandered to the stables. Marma was nosing the straw when I entered, but her ears perked up when she heard me whistle. She turned and poked her head over the gate of her stall.

“Hello, beautiful.” I patted beneath her forelock down to her muzzle. Her head bobbed up, lifting my hand.

I laughed. “I'm sorry, sweeting, I didn't bring you an apple.”

She snorted her disapproval.

“How about a good brushing, instead?”

Her nostrils flared and she nickered. I took that as a yes.

I grabbed a metal curry comb from the bucket just outside her stall and started at her shoulders. The stable doors opened to the west, and the last rays of the setting sun bathed the space in a warm glow. I let myself relax with each long and languid stroke. Marma, too, seemed content, her dark eyes full of trust, her strong body easing into the rhythm.

But the distraction didn't last long. While dust motes flitted silently around me, my mind filled with noise. Try as I might, my mind was firmly fixed on Alrik.

Ealhswith had left me detailed instructions on how to find the mysterious old woman, and I was to set out in a week's time to procure her services.

“When did I decide to go through with all this?” I asked Marma.

The muscles under her coat shivered, rippling beneath my hand, and she whinnied. I sighed. I didn't know either. I tried to ascertain the exact moment that I had agreed to see Alrik again, and recognized with chagrin that for all my dismissals, I had only been fooling myself. I think I knew the first moment I saw him that I would do anything to see him again. I knew what he meant to do and realized I wanted quite badly for him to do it.

Marma stomped her foot, protesting my drifting attention.

I laughed. “Perhaps I should just bring you an apple.”

She snorted her agreement.

Despite the late season, the storehouse held several crates of apples. Some of the fruit would be rotted, others soft, but Marma wasn't picky. I pulled a crate out and lifted the straw, rooting around until I found one. I returned to the stables, tossing the red sphere up and catching it, realizing sardonically that my own future was very much up in the air, but it, too, had the potential to be very sweet indeed.

I gave Marma her treat and headed home, visions and thoughts of Alrik dominating my mind. In only a fortnight, we would be together again.

*   *   *

Beyond the highlands, deep in Somerset's northern levels, I found the old woman's cottage. A towering oak stood sentry to the home. Hundreds of bones, dried and bleached by the sun, hung from its branches. They swayed and tinkled in the light breeze. No Christian would dare display such crudities. This woman was pagan. My heart skipped a beat. Other than my mother and Bertram, I had never met another pagan. I knocked on the door. A small stool sat beneath the single window; a knife, edged with blood, dripped soundlessly into the grass.

“Who's there?” a hoarse, crackling female voice called from behind the door.

I cleared my throat. “I hear you deal in secrets, mistress. I've come to procure your services.”

The door opened a crack, and I heard shuffling as someone moved deeper into the home. I pushed against the heavy door. It was very dark inside; a single muted beam of light filtered in through a small hole in the roof. The air was thick with peat smoke, and the acrid smell of fresh blood reached my nostrils, coalescing with the unpleasant reek of at least one unwashed body.

“Close the door.”

I reached behind me and swung the door shut. The room was muted into eerie silence. Only the sound of my own breathing, swift and shallow in my ears, disturbed the preternatural quiet.

“Sit.”

I looked through the thick, gray haze. Near the middle of the room, I found a stool, the light leeching in from the roof just barely outlining it. I sat as directed.

“You're a pretty thing.”

I had no idea where she was. Her voice floated in the gloom.

I tried to speak, but inhaled a lungful of gritty smoke. I coughed, my eyes watering. “I have come to—”

“I know why you're here,” she interrupted. “Who sent you?”

“A friend.”

I could hear more shuffling around the periphery of the large room.

I turned my head in an effort to follow the sound, but it was impossible to discern where the disembodied voice lurked or where the sounds originated.

A shadow passed in front of me right before something grabbed my arm. The sting of a hot blade sliced across the back of my hand.

I jumped off the stool, knocking it down in the process. “What are you doing?” I hissed into the shadows, wrapping my hand tightly with my cloak. The blood pooled and soaked into the thick fabric. Panic swept over me. I scanned the blackness, but couldn't find the door.

“Sit.”

“I will do nothing of the sort. I demand you show me the way out.”

“Can't do that.”

“Show me the door.”

“No.”

“Then I shall find it myself.”

I started to move, but something blocked my way. It was large—gigantic, in fact—shaggy, and reeked of fresh blood and dried urine. It growled. My heart hammered against my chest.

“Sit.”

I backed up, fishing around the floor with a blind hand until I found the stool. Setting it upright, I sat back down.