Lady of Fire (21 page)

"Roger. Roger." She shook him frantically, hissing, "Riders come."

"Unnnnh? Jesu, Lea, what is it that makes you unable to let a man sleep?"

"I said riders are coming, Roger. They can smell the fire."

He was fully awake in an instant and listening. "God's teeth! The road is overgrown and unused." He sprang to his feet and grabbed her hand. "We've got to get to the horses!"

They ran for the woods where the animals had been hidden, clearing the first heavy overgrowth and plunging into a short, narrow ditch. Roger pushed Eleanor down ahead of him and then covered her with his body. They lay listening as mounted riders thundered down the old road and passed without stopping.

"Sweet Mary!" Eleanor breathed to break their silence. "I thought they came looking for us."

"Nay—they could smell the fire, Lea. If they'd searched, they'd have stopped to see whether we were poachers or Belesme's quarry." He released her reluctantly and heaved himself up. She crawled out after him and began picking grass and dead leaves off her clothing and out of her hair. There had been some stagnant water in the ditch and it had soaked the front of her gown with a foul-smelling stain. She lifted the wet material away from her and wrinkled her nose in disgust. "Ugh, brother, but I smell as bad as the drainage pond at Nantes. I'll have to use the water left in the skins to wash myself and I'll have to change my clothes."

She was a mess and, in spite of her predicament, Roger found it difficult not to laugh at her bedraggled appearance. She noted the twitch at the corners of his mouth and managed a rueful grin. "Aye, if we were discovered this instant, none would mark me for Eleanor of Nantes. I look more the barnyard wench than the heiress."

A slow smile spread across his face. "You don't have to wash with a rag and a cup of water, Lea. There's a stream across the road and I've brought some of Gilbert's soap." He watched her expression brighten and nodded. "Aye, 'tis hot and we both stink, and the water's cool—what say you to a bath?"

"There's a stream?" She turned on him, rounding indignantly. "Had I known there was extra water, I'd have bathed before I ate. There I stood complaining of the heat and the smell of me, and you never told me there was water."

"I thought you could guess," he defended, "for I filled the skins and we ate and cooked with it."

"I thought 'twas a well you found." Her mood changed abruptly and she began unplaiting her hair and combing it with her fingers. She let it fall loose about her shoulders as she picked up her skirts above her ankles and began to run playfully toward the road. "Do not stand there like a dolt, brother," she called back.

He watched her run like a young colt, her hair streaming wildly after her. "Aye! do not forget to stop for the soap!" he yelled after her as he began to run also. She cut across the open area to the church and stopped to rummage quickly for a chunk of her father's strong tallow soap. With it in her hand, she raced for the road.

"Wait!"

She turned, laughing, and shook her head. "Nay, 'tis up to you to catch me, Roger!"

He took the challenge and tried to catch her. For a time, she zigzagged out of his reach, but she was no match for his longer legs. He finally lunged and caught her from behind and they collapsed, giggling and shrieking like children, in a heap at the top of the hill that overlooked the stream bank. She was out of breath. He pulled a seed stem of wild grass and tickled the end of her nose. She pushed it away and rolled to sit up. "Ugh! I don't see how you can stand to be this close to me, brother, for I cannot stand myself." Using his shoulder for balance, she pushed herself up and surveyed the scene below. "Look—there's a fall! Is the pool deep?"

"Nay." Reluctantly he pulled himself up and followed her line of vision. "But I warn you, Lea, the water's not warm like you are used to." He pulled off his boots and stripped his tunic, throwing it down the hillside toward the water. When he bent to unfasten the leather strips that held his chausses, she eyed him curiously.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Stripping myself." He looked up and met her dark eyes staring in fascination. "Wet clothes are heavy, Lea. You'd best take yours off too."

She reddened and shook her head. "What if somebody came?"

"There's none but me to see you." His mouth was dry as he waited for her decision.

"Nay, I cannot." She unfastened her gown at the waist and pulled it over her head, revealing a plain white undershift now stained with muddy water. "I can wade in this and 'twill cool my body."

"As you please." He shrugged to hide his disappointment. "But it would not be the first time I've seen you bare."

"When?"

"Well… you could not have been above three or four—but I have seen you."

" 'Tis not the same." She gathered her dress and started down the hill ahead of him. "Bring your clothes and we'll wash them."

He finished removing his clothing and collected it. She stood on the bank and slipped off her slippers while trying to suppress a mischievous grin. When he caught up, she pointed toward the fall. "Look there." He turned to see what she saw and was rewarded with a playful push that sent him headlong into the water. Instead of splashing and coming up indignantly, he kept his head down and lay motionless.

"Roger? Roger!" Anxiously she slid into the water and made her way to him. "Sweet Mary! Did you strike your head?" He still did not move when she reached to pull his head out of the water. As she grasped his hair, his hand shot out and caught her leg and tipped her over. She came up sputtering and squealing. " 'Twas
most
unfair, brother."

"Oh… aye." He grinned. "And 'twas most honorable to send your champion head first into a pool when you did not even know the depth."

"I could see the bottom," she answered. Cold water streamed in rivulets down her face as she pushed the wet hair back. She tried to wade in the waist-deep water and found her movement hampered by the wet shift. She looked down in disgust and then blushed in embarrassment—the white fabric clung like plaster, outlining the swell of her breasts, and its wetness gave it a transparency that revealed the darker circles of her nipples. He noted the flush in her cheeks and followed her downward gaze to where the offending nipples stood like hard little knobs against the clinging shift. He looked away and moved to the bank to reach for the soap. "Here…" His voice sounded strange in his own ears as he turned back. "Let me help you wash your hair."

"Nay," she choked as she covered her chest with crossed arms, "I can do it myself."

"And keep me from seeing you? Lea, you might as well just take off your shift and wash it with the rest of the clothes." He moved closer, but she just shook her head stubbornly. "Here, then…" He reached out and caught her shoulder. "I will soap your head for you while you cover yourself, and then you can duck your head under the water to rinse it." He made a weak lather, combing and smoothing as he went, to avoid any unnecessary tangling. Her back was to him and he could feel her relax slightly. It was an effort not to just reach around her and cup a full, rounded breast in his hand, but he cautioned himself not to frighten her. "There." He gave her a light push and told her, "Rinse it."

She held her breath and lowered her head beneath the surface. Her hair fanned out around her in the water. Pushing it back with both hands, she stood up and let it fall straight down over her shoulders. "That feels so good, Roger, that I could do it again, but I fear I'd never get the tangles out. Here—turn yourself around and squat down—I'll wash yours for you."

The water was cold but not unbearable and soon they finished bathing and began to play like children. She lost her self-consciousness over the transparency of her shift and splashed about happily, sending palmfuls of water his direction and squealing when he sent sprays back. She sloshed over to him and twined her arms about his neck in an effort to dunk him underwater. He could feel her taut nipples against his skin unconsciously enticing him. He broke her hold and pushed away. "Come, Lea, 'tis getting late and we haven't done the clothes. If they are to dry, they'll have to be spread out while there's still sun."

"Aye," she agreed reluctantly, "but 'tis so cool and peaceful I could stay right here forever."

"You already grow wrinkled," he teased while he reached for his tunic and chausses. "Here—start pounding these on the rocks while I get your gown."

She did as he asked, working soap into the dirty garments and then pounding them with a small rock against a large flat one to work in the suds. Some of the stains would be impossible, she decided, but at least the smell of sweat and horses would come out. She looked up to see him standing on the bank above her, his tall, well-muscled body still unclad. She blushed furiously and turned away, amusing him. "Here," he called as he tossed down her gown. She nodded and rinsed his clothes. "Here yourself," she answered when she was done. "Spread them out to dry."

"Is this the best you can wring, Lea?" he teased as he squeezed out rivulets of water from his tunic. "They'll not dry by the morrow."

"Washing was not one of the tasks I was taught," she shot back with a grin. "Great ladies do not do their own washing, and well you know it."

"Ah, so you
do
aspire to be a lady, after all. I can see you in my mind with keys at your waist, ordering the running of your husband's keep, seeing to his comfort, sewing fine things…"

"Stop it!" she laughed, her eyes lit with amusement at his vision of her domesticity. "You see no such thing, Roger FitzGilbert! You know full well I have no skill in such things!"

"Nay, Lea," he persisted in teasing, "after seeing you labor over my clothes, I agree with Henry…'tis time you took a husband." His eyes traveled to the wet, clinging shift, taking in the full curve of rosytipped breasts pushing at the almost transparent material. "Aye," he murmured half to himself, " 'tis overlong, I think." Sliding back into the water, he reached to take the gown she'd been washing.

She waited until he turned to wring it out, and then came up behind him to give him one last playful ducking. He stood like a rock while she pushed with all her might; then he reached around to pull her down. She fell back, flailing and sputtering, and sank under the water.

" 'Twas not fair!" she cried as she came up, spitting and pushing at her tangled hair. "You are strong and I am weak!"

"Nay, we are as God made us, Lea—each for a purpose."

He'd stopped laughing and stood there soberly staring at her with an odd, arrested expression on his face. There was something in those blue eyes that she'd never seen before, something that made her breath catch and her throat constrict. Guiltily she looked away, muttering, "Ah, we'd best get out, brother."

"Aye." He reluctantly heaved himself up on the bank and set to laying out their wet clothing. "There's naught to dry with," he spoke over his shoulder, "but the sun's warm after the cold water."

Without waiting for him, she dropped to the ground and stretched out on her stomach to embrace the warmth of the soft grass. Cradling her head in the crook of an elbow, she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply of the earth's smell. " 'Tis so good to be clean, Roger," she murmured.

Behind her, he finished spreading and shaping her dress and his tunic in the full sun before stooping to pick up and shake out his wet chausses. Pulling them on, he tied them at his waist, shivering despite the summer heat. Without bothering to wrap them, he stood over her for a moment, his whole body alive with its acute awareness of her. Finally he lowered his tall frame down beside her, rolled over, and propped himself up on his elbow to study her. He let his eyes roam over the wet, tangled mass of dark hair, the black fringe of still-wet lashes, the gentle curve of fair cheek, and down to the slender white neck. The minstrels could sing of Edith Swan-Neck, Saxon Harold's leman, but Roger would hazard all he possessed that she could not have begun to compare with Eleanor of Nantes. Nay, there could be none more beautiful than his Lea.

Thinking her asleep, he allowed himself the luxury of looking lower to where her breasts swelled against the ground, and he remembered how they looked that day Belesme had ripped her gown. The image of her standing there uncovered flooded his mind, almost crowding out rational thought, and gave him that familiar dryness of mouth. His blood raced, pounding in his temples, warming him, and he thought he would burst with longing. His loins tautened, filling him with an aching that he no longer wanted to deny. It was as though every fiber of his being demanded more than the sight of her. He reached to touch where the wet shift still clung to her damp skin, tantalizing him with what it would hide. His fingers, sensitive with his desire, smoothed the wet linen over her shoulder and down to her narrow waist.

Eleanor held her breath and lay very still beneath his touch and tried to deny the inner trembling that threatened possession of her body. Then an involuntary shiver of excitement coursed through her when he moved closer. His fingers against her back were light as they smoothed and stroked the wrinkles of her shift, but there was nothing soothing about the way they made her feel. She waited, afraid he would roll away from her and afraid he wouldn't.

He traced downward to the curve of her hip, drawing his fingertips gently over the outer round of the bone to brush along her thigh. She swallowed hard, but did not recoil from his touch. Above his hand, the division of her hips was revealed through the wet fabric.

"Sweet Jesu, Lea," he croaked, "I love you."

Drawn by the strangeness of his voice, she half-rolled to face him and was unprepared for the sudden violent rush she felt at the open desire in his eyes. Her heart beat wildly and her eyes widened as he lowered his head to hers and sought her lips hungrily. His hands came up to cradle her head and hold it still while he kissed her with the fervor of a yearning too long denied.

Fire raced through her veins, sending a tremor of delight that shook her to the very core of her being. "Hold me, Lea," he mumbled thickly, and for answer she slid her arms around him tightly. Without reason, without thought, she clung to him as he laid her on her back. She was floating breathlessly while his lips traveled softly, reverently over her closed eyelids, her temples, and on to her earlobe. His warm breath against her ear raised gooseflesh on her arms and sent shivers down her spine, but she was feeling far from cold. His tongue darted and teased and his teeth nibbled, bringing her alive with desire.