Fire Dance (17 page)

Clever.

If he had not been watching at the very minute she spoke, he would not have made the connection. Mayhap it was a mere suggestion that she had made. Clearly something she had said had this effect. Mayhap, as he had originally suspected, Edyt had close ties to the lady, who was hidden somewhere within the village, or close by. Or–

Again, Alain decided not to question the suspicious behavior, for it would merely put them on their guard. And, with the press of other problems, their guard did appear to be slipping. He would keep watching.

Satisfied that Thomas would have sufficient men to build the motte, Alain moved away from the crowd. Chrétien joined him.

"What think you, Chrétien?"

"There will be enough. But I worried at first."

"I value your concern. But did you not notice anything else?"

"It seemed odd, I thought, as if they suddenly changed their minds, all of a piece."

"I thought the same. Our lady may be amongst them. Mayhap her word changed their minds."

"You have a thought who?"

"I have a suspicion. Mayhap, we have but to watch."

"Aye. Whoever she is, she is an odd sort, Alain."

"Mayhap."

"Or we do not know what moves her, and this makes her seem odd."

Alain smiled. "In that way, everyone here seems odd. Do you not agree?"

"And so you will not tell me where your suspicion falls?"

"Let us see instead if yours will fall in the same place."

Chrétien grinned back. Evidently he had his own unspoken suspicions.

* * *

"I suppose we shall manage," said Thomas, his brow folded in a deep fret. "But it will be very hard to keep track of the lord days owed to the manor, if each villein serves differently."

Alain regarded the silver-haired knight who stood beside him as they surveyed the loading of carts in the bailey. He never bragged about his abilities to read and figure, but he was secretly proud of it, and understood, as an uneducated man could not, just how useful it was. For all that Thomas might know in his head, or keep count on his tally sticks, he could not compare with what a man might keep on parchment.

"Is it true you do not read, Thomas? Nor keep accounts?"

"Nay." The knight’s pale grey eyes narrowed as he turned back to watch the carters. "Edyt keeps the tallies."

"A maid? How is that so?"

Thomas would not be caught in that trap. The man smiled triumphantly. "She was the Lady Edyt's most apt pupil. The lady was proud of her namesake."

Alain grumbled a grudging thanks and left to find the girl. Since he had promised relief for his villeins, he'd best find out what it was going to cost him. Thomas might think it beyond manageable. But Fyren had done some unusual things, not all of which needed to continue.

He would see what Edyt had to say about that, as well, giving him another opportunity to probe her secrets. The idea couldn't seem to leave his head. Could he not pry from her the cause of her distress? If it was distress, and not instead very skillful maneuvering. This time, he would resolve it.

He found her with a broom, sweeping the floor of the great hall, in preparation for the spreading of fresh rushes. He smiled. He had no quarrel with her management, and had not seen another hall kept so clean. A sharp catch in his throat brought him back to his problem.

"A word with you, Edyt."

Without a word, she set aside the broom, leaving a small pile of debris from the rushes that had already been removed.

"In my chamber."

She followed him up the stairs in her usual silent fashion. He closed the door behind her. The wariness in her eyes increased. Perhaps he should put her at ease first.

"Have you ever seen a map, Edyt?"

"Nay."

Alain rolled out the crude drawing he had made, and pointed out to her the landmarks he had found significant.

"But it is not correct," she protested.

"I know that, as I have only guessed. But in what way?"

"You have placed Cyneric's holding too far to the east. It is to be found in the Mallerstang Common which you have not placed on the map."

Alain stared at her, astonished. "You can read?"

Her face paled. "Aye," she stammered. "I know a little Latin, as well. Is there something wrong with that?"

"It is uncommon, save for ladies of great families. How do you come to know?"

A light pink flush formed on her cheeks. "I learned from the Lady Edyt. Some others did, as well, but most did not want to learn. She found me useful for the household accounts, and for writing letters and other things."

"Does not Thomas do those things?"

"He does not read. So it falls to me."

"You are an unusual woman, Edyt. I cannot help but wonder if you are more than you seem."

"Nay," she said, and her face took on that carefully arranged mask that told him her thoughts were something different from her words. But pursuit would only bring more denial.

"Then, come and help me with them. If we are to shortchange ourselves on the day service of almost forty villeins, we must know what it means."

"If you will let me get my tallies, lord, then it can be done with greater speed."

"Pour me some wine from the jug before you leave."

Silently she reached for the jug and leaned over the table as she poured into the maser. He watched the delicate lines of her slender hands, the left one pouring while the right steadied the maser. The right hand, directly before his eyes. And the slender band of white skin around its middle finger.

Where a ring should be.

Like a lightning stroke, Alain lurched and seized her hand. She screamed, jerked against his grip. He held fast. With a yank, he broke the cord about his neck that held the Celtic ring, and jammed the golden band onto her finger.

"A fit. Very clever, lady, to hide beneath my very nose."

"No, please!"

"You will deny it now? I think not. For whatever reason you have chosen this deception, the game is over. I will have no more lies from you."

"No! You are mistaken, lord."

"I am not. Do you deny this finger held a ring? And is this not it? Why would you wear a ring if you are no more than a servant? Oh, nay, I am satisfied. I have watched you too closely. I know not your scheme, but if you mean to sell us out to the Scots, you will fail. It is the end, Melisande. You shall not escape now."

Melisande thrust both arms inward, upward against the grip of his thumbs, and sprang free. She pounced for the door, sped along the balcony to the stairs as Alain closed in behind her.

He vaulted over the railing to the floor below, and blocked the foot of the stairs, arms spread rail to rail. Melisande glanced back to the balcony above, then to at him.

Alain held out his hand. "You have only a trap behind you. You cannot escape. Come, Melisande."

"Nay."

"Come or I will force you."

She shook her head.

From the corner of his eye, Alain saw the Saxons gather, poised to draw their swords. "Is it war you want, Melisande? For if you do, you shall have it. Look at them. One word from you and they will draw arms. Look at the Normans. They are equally ready. Is that what you want?"

Alain slid one foot onto the first step. His arms spread across from one bannister to the other.

Melisande closed her eyes, as if to shut it out. But she was too practical a maid to pretend it would go away so easily. She shook her head slowly.

She did not quite flinch when he took her hand.

"By God, you will not hurt her!" Gerard's voice bellowed with apprehension.

"Use your head, Gerard. She is of no use to me in that way. I do not harm women. But we will wed, and now. Chrétien, find the ring I brought. Robert, summon the priest. If he is not to the chapel immediately, we start without him."

Before he could shift farther toward the paired doors with his prize, Wallis stepped before them beside Gerard, legs spread wide, hand on the sword hilt. His eyes gleamed with challenge.

"As they are clearly yours, Melisande, you tell them."

Her blue eyes copied the resigned set of her mouth. "I want no fight, Wallis. Gerard, you gave your word. Live by it."

"Good girl."

The Saxons sagged and stepped aside.

Alain clenched his teeth and took the girl by the wrist, tamping down the instinct to tighten the grip. But this time she would not catch him off guard.

The yellow-haired Saxon girl squared her shoulders, and he saw for the first time how much her humble garments had hidden her noble carriage. And beneath her carefully contrived mask of resignation, she was also the most frightened maiden he had ever seen.

CHAPTER 9

As if it were something he did every day, he led his bride to the steps of the chapel. She looked straight ahead, with her head carried high.

 
Chrétien hurried along at his lord's side, Chrétien, the cautious, the peacemaker, whose heart was soft and tender, who had lost, but still cherished his only love. "Alain, surely you do not need to bully her."

Norman knights strode behind and before, blocking Saxons. Alain frowned, but it could be no other way. The castle could not be secure without this marriage. He dared not let her escape.

"You cannot force me to marry you," she said, and her voice trembled with the words.

"You think I cannot? You have already forgotten the lesson learned just moments ago? Oh, yes, lady, I can force you. But that will make of this marriage a bloodbath, for my men will fight as surely as yours. You choose, Melisande."

Alain fixed hard eyes on her, not daring to let her believe she had any alternative. With his hand still secure about her wrist, he took the ring Chrétien held forth.

"Who will give this bride away, as she has no parents?" His eyes scanned the crowd of Saxons. "Thomas."

"Nay, lord, I beg you," said the man.

"Lady? You may choose."

"Nay."

"Then I say it shall be Thomas."

Thomas's silver hair flopped down over his eyes as he lowered his gaze to the ground. Then his anguished face turned to her. "Forgive me, lady."

"Say the words, Lady Melisande."

"Have done with it, Thomas. The fault is not yours."

His head bowed as if defeated, Thomas stepped forward, took her hand, and with a reassuring pat, placed it in the hand of her antagonist. He fell back then, yet still stood behind her. One word from her, and Thomas too would die defending her.

And that was why she acquiesced. Because she loved them. He admired her more than she could know.

Alain said his vows calmly, then with his other hand turned her face back to meet his gaze. He did not want her to hate him. Nor could he understand what drove her to such fear. Was it conspiracy?