Malia Martin (19 page)

“He comes, the Bastard Duke, with the blessing of the pope.” Aleene kept her head bowed as she said this.

“Oh, my poor dear Harold.” Aleene felt Edith’s slim hand enfold her own. “He will not take this well.”

“They go north, to the Abbey of Fecamp.” Aleene finally looked up into Edith’s face.

Harold’s hand-fasted wife smiled wanly and patted Aleene’s hand again. “You have been so brave, dear, to make such a journey and bring such news.”

“Courage is not what drove me,” Aleene said quietly, guilt and shame making her want to turn and run forever.

“When Harold returns from the north, he shall be grateful to you, Lady Aleene, for your loyalty.”

Aleene pulled her hand from the graceful one that held it and turned. “I should not be surprised if he wishes me dead.”

“He has wished you many things, my dear Lady Aleene,” Harold’s lovely wife placed a reassuring hand on Aleene’s shoulder, “but never dead.”

Aleene turned and looked into Edith’s smiling face, and had never felt less like smiling herself.

“And you are alive now.” Edith squeezed Aleene’s shoulder, then went to sit in a comfortable-looking chair. Picking up her needlework, she commented, “So you have done well.”

“Ending up alive does not always mean a life led well.”

Edith took a moment to smooth a silken thread. “We are women in a man’s world, Aleene, survival is success.” The woman nodded to a chair beside her. “Do sit.”

Aleene would rather have paced and walked, in fact, she would have rather run, but she clasped her hands together and sat, keeping her back straight.

With a small sigh, Edith tilted her head and closed her eyes. “Ah, I do love the feel of sun through these lovely glass planes.”

Aleene looked at the pounded glass that lined the large windows in Edith’s solarium. The material did seem to intensify the heat of what outside would be a cool sun. “I have never seen glass windows,” Aleene said, more to be polite than anything else.

“They are not so hard to get anymore.” Edith slid her needle through the cloth in her hands and looked up. “You should order some for Seabreeze. Harold has told me that it is a striking place, your castle.”

Aleene blew out a rattier loud breath, unable to keep her impatience in check. “Excuse me, Lady Edith, but I am rather anxious. Perhaps there is someone here I could speak with about what I’ve seen? One of the king’s men?”

She had been sure that Edith was the correct person to relay her news. Aleene had never met Edith in person before now, but had heard much of Harold’s love for her. Edith had joined with Harold in a ceremony not sanctioned by the church. She had born the king’s children and stood steadfastly by him, even as Harold sealed a more politically advantageous marriage in the church. Still, the King referred to Edith as his wife, and, it was rumored, even turned to her for counsel. But now, as they sat lazily in the warm solarium, Aleene wondered if Edith were not quite as sharp as rumor had it.

With a small smile Edith went back to her needlework. “There is nothing for you to do, Aleene. Harold will be back soon enough. And then you can tell him what you have seen.”

“I truly do not think you understand!” Aleene stood quickly, moving to stand before Edith. “There are thousands of men, hundreds of horses, and they ride under the pennant of the pope. We must do something, now.”

Edith rose slowly and took Aleene’s hand within her own. “There is nothing we can possibly do at this very moment to help the situation. We must wait for Harold to return from York. Until then we must be calm. For to give Harold such news in such a state would surely make a very bad thing many times worse.”

“But—”

“No, Aleene, we must be steady.” She smiled. “It is part of our purpose. To be steady.”

Aleene shook her head, unsure of what Edith meant, and definitely not wanting to sit back down and wait while all around her, life whirled with uncertainty and terror.

“We shall walk.” Edith said, as if she could read Aleene’s mind. “Come, my garden is quite lovely even though winter approaches.” Still holding Aleene’s hand, she led the way out the heavy planked door. “Steady, Aleene, be steady. It cultivates intelligent thought, rather than chaotic action.”

As Aleene allowed Edith to take her outside into the chilly day, a long-forgotten memory of her mother flashed through her mind. “Your actions rule your thoughts, dear.” Aleene heard the soft voice of her gentle mother. “It should be the other way around.”

Biting her lip, Aleene steeled herself to slow her drumming heart, to stop the dizzying speed of her thoughts, and realized suddenly that all of the problems she had gotten herself into were because she had forgotten that wise counsel from her mother.

She stared at the small, fair woman beside her and knew with all of her heart that her mother would have said the same as Edith.

Be steady, Aleene.
She heard the words this time in the voice that populated her early childhood memories. The long-lost voice of love.

Stopping, she pulled her hand from Edith’s, covered her face, and for the first time since her father’s death, wept. She cried long and hard, a lung-shuddering, breathtaking cry. And when she finally felt the hand smoothing her hair, she was too weak even to care that she had let down her guard so.

As her breathing slowed and her hiccups lost their strangled quality, Aleene felt the cold hard stone beneath her and realized that she was sitting. She closed her eyes, hung her head, and relaxed onto the bench.

Edith patted her shoulder, a comforting gesture. Not enough contact to smother, but enough to let Aleene know that she wasn’t alone. “I do love a good cry,” Edith said softly.

Without answering, Aleene used the end of her long sleeves to dry her eyes and wipe her nose.

“I wish you could have seen my garden this summer. The colors were breathtaking. Although even now it is still a lovely spot, don’t you think?”

Not wanting to be rude, Aleene opened her eyes and looked around her.

“This is my impractical flower garden.” Edith smiled. “The herbs and such I grow by the kitchens. But this place is for nothing more than aesthetic pleasure.” She sighed prettily. “Oh, I do enjoy it.”

Aleene dabbed at her nose again and hiccuped. “It’s lovely.” It was really, the ground covered with grass and moss, with stepping stones winding around and benches to sit on among the trees, bushes, and plants. But Aleene couldn’t keep her mind on the garden. She had just cried harder than she ever remembered doing before. And in front of someone else. She felt dizzy and scared. Would this woman beside her use the knowledge of Aleene’s weakness to do her harm?

Biting her lip, Aleene straightened, pulling away from Edith’s touch.

“I will leave you here.” Edith stood. She looked around, then leaned toward Aleene conspiratorially. “I know it is quite blasphemous, but I do believe this garden to be enchanted.” She smiled, her entire face lighting up with the gesture. “I come here when my heart is most grieved, and usually leave feeling much better. Although, in the winter, I sometimes leave almost frozen.” She laughed, touched Aleene’s shoulder softly, and turned away.

Aleene watched her, tears again threatening the backs of her eyes. “Stay,” she heard
herself say. And then she blinked, wondering how those words had come from her mouth.

Edith turned. Her gaze seemed to go right into Aleene’s heart and read it. “Of course.” She sat again. Silence remained between them as a cold wind stirred through the branches of the trees overhead. Lifting her chin, Aleene watched the bare limbs dance.

“I am afraid.”

“I also,” Edith said slowly. And then they sat together in silence until Aleene’s toes began to go numb from the cold. As if she knew of Aleene’s discomfort, Edith stood, took Aleene’s hand in hers, and led her back inside.

King Harold returned from York two days later. He had again marched his men straight through, never stopping. They arrived haggard, cold, and hungry. When she heard the commotion in the bailey, Aleene said a quick prayer and ran for the hall.

Edith was already there. She hugged Aleene quickly, whispering in her ear, “Be steady.”

Harold entered then, his clothes caked with mud. Edith went to him and held him in her arms. It shocked Aleene that this man, the king of the English, would allow such intimacy in front of his men. But they didn’t seem to notice anything amiss.

With her hands clasped in front of her, Aleene watched Edith whisper to Harold, and then swallowed against the tide of fear that rose up as he turned his gaze on her.

Releasing his wife, Harold came to Aleene. She inhaled, squaring her shoulders.

“How comes the people of Pevensey?” Worry was in his voice, not anger.

Aleene released the breath she held. “Pevensey did not see the worse of it, your highness. As I traveled, though, I came through small villages laid to waste.”

He shook his head and dragged his fingers through his matted hair. “To have been at the ready for so long, and then . . .” his words trailed off and he shook his head again, his eyes closing.

“Cyne . . . I mean, the man I took to husband . . .” Aleene faltered, but then gripped her hands tighter and continued. “He was not as he seemed.”

Harold opened his eyes. “I have heard.”

“Messengers approach!” a page interrupted.

Harold turned. “Who is it?”

“Monks, your highness, one from the duke of Normandy, the other your own messenger returning.”

Harold gestured brusquely. “Send them in when they arrive.”

The page bowed and rushed away.

Aleene stepped forward nervously. “I . . . your highness, if . . .”

“Tell me what you have seen, Lady Aleene.” Harold looked at her and smiled, though it did not reach his eyes. “I am happy that you have been so courageous in bringing me your news.”

“I, um . . .” Aleene could not believe that he did not want to censor her. She looked around, her gaze colliding with Edith’s. Her new friend smiled. Aleene took a deep breath. “The duke rides under the pennant of the pope, your highness.” She bowed her head, knowing this news would hurt her king deeply.

A strangled sound came from him. She looked up just as he whirled away and went to the other side of the hall. There, on the wall, hung a crucifix. Harold stood in front of it, not moving. Silence rang through the high-ceilinged room as if not a soul stood within the sanctuary of stone.

A clatter at the door announced the arrival of the monks. They entered looking only a bit better than the king himself.

One of the men stepped forward, walking quickly toward the king. “I have a message from the duke of the Normans, your highness.”

Harold did not turn. “Say it.”

“He states his right to the throne of England, and offers a combat, a hand-to-hand combat that it might finally be decided.”

Again silence thundered through the great hall. When Harold finally turned, his face was pale beneath the grime. “We march at once.” His gaze swept the men that stood at the back of the hall. “We march to battle.”

The men began speaking all at once.

“But, your highness, I implore you to think on this some more!” the monk before Harold pleaded. “It is only a combat of two the duke asks for.”

Harold stayed the man’s arguments with an outthrust hand. “’Tis true that William rides under the papal banner?”

The monk swallowed noticeably, and again the men quieted, their eyes now round with shock.

“’Tis true, your highness.”

Harold clenched his hand and relaxed his arm against his side.

Aleene took a few steps forward, her heart nearly breaking at the agony she read on Harold’s face. “The church has deserted me. I shall perish in hell.” Aleene heard the soft sound of her king’s whisper before he turned once again to face the crucifix.

“The English shall go to battle the Normans,” Harold said softly. Then, thrusting back his head, he cried, “May the Lord now decide between William and me, and may he pronounce which of us has the right.”

T
he sun-dappled water danced, making it seem as if the world were full of crystals. Robert closed his eyes and watched the colors sparkle against his eyelids, blue, red, yellow. Slowly, he dragged his eyes open to see her, a dark outline against the brightness of the sea. Tall, curvaceous, sensual. She came closer and he saw that she had been swimming. Her raven hair shone with clear, sparkling droplets of water.

The beauty of the scene before him belied the feeling in his heart. Why did he hurt? How did he know her smile would turn down as soon as she realized it was him? Why did he feel so dark inside with such light surrounding him?

And then she opened her arms to him, smiling and he went to her. He felt her breasts, wet against his chest. He smelled the scent of her flesh, the sea in her hair. And his heart broke open to bring in her light and let out its darkness.

This was how it should be, he thought.

“Robert?” she asked lightly. “Robert?”

Only he couldn’t answer, he couldn’t speak.

“Robert!” This time her tone was more commanding. “Robert!” Harsh impatience thundered through her suddenly deep voice.