The Assassin's Wife (36 page)

“This is the highest waterfall in the land, they tell me,” said Miles, shouting above the force of the water. Drawing me close, he kissed me on the mouth. Around us the spray fell like rain, sprinkling our hair and garments while the torrent rolled. “The stones are slippery. Hold on to me as we go down the slope.”

Under the shadow of the trees away from the thunderous noise we stretched luxuriously, sharing the bread and cheese and ale we’d brought with us. Never had a banquet tasted as delicious as that humble feast.

“So tell me about this dream.” Miles brushed away crumbs from his doublet and wrapped me in strong arms.
 

Leaning against his chest so close I could hear the steady beat of his heart, I shared the visions that had haunted me since childhood. As I spoke, Mistress Evans’s melodious voice returned to remind me of her prophecies—“Saddles and horses for you, and a long road to travel”—and here I was in the north—

“You’re an uncommon wench.” His hand stroked my unpinned hair. “But I knew that from the first.” He paused, and turning me to face him looked deep into my eyes as if to read a mystery. “But these dreams are too dangerous for other ears.”

“I’ve told no one save the priest—and a wise woman I met in Norwich.” Something prevented me from mentioning Harry.

“You must be careful. The wenches here delight in gossip and have loose tongues—you understand me? Our duke’s very pious and witchcraft’s a hanging matter. I know, I know—You told Lady Anne her fortune! But dreams and visions—That’s something else—” He sat upright. “I’m unlikely to have any business at the Tower, nor are we likely to return to London. The duke’s not easy at court—he’s no love for the Wydeville wench or her ambitious family. No, we’ll stay either here or at Middleham. Don’t look so disappointed, lass. I know you miss your family in London but you must content yourself with sending messages.” He kissed me softly on the lips, his eyes beginning to smoulder with languorous promise. “Besides, I thought you were so happy with me you needed no other pleasures—”

“I am! I am!” I flung myself upon him so that he slithered down the tree-trunk he was leaning against and bumped his head.

“Why is it then, you’re always beating me?” He rubbed his head with mock agony.

The sheltered privacy of the trees guarded our nakedness as we unlaced our garments to tangle upon a soft, leafy bed, stroking each other’s bodies into a frenzy of delight. Groaning with ecstasy, Miles turned me in his arms to straddle him so that the dark, luxuriant cascade of my unloosed hair fell across his face. Twisting his fingers among its curls he pulled me gently towards him, so our mouths might touch and drink in each other’s moisture.
 

As my tongue traced the black hair that threaded down the muscled contours of his chest towards his hardening manhood, he groaned and wrenched back my head. Drawing me down astride him again, he reached to squeeze my breasts, his eyes a furious blue blaze beneath me.
 

“Forget what those cold-blooded priests have taught you,” he breathed, suddenly clasping his hands under the curve of my buttocks to lift and enter me with a swift, fierce, delicious thrust. “Rules made for monks deny the woman's right to lie on top, yet I avow a wench may please a man any way she chooses. These holy men know nothing of pleasure,” he murmured, as he urged me to move above him, his gasps growing harsh and ragged. “You may ride me now to paradise.”

Dizzied with kisses, his mouth now at my breasts, sucking and teasing the taut nipples, Miles pressed me closer, thrusting up to meet me with mounting urgency and vigour. Writhing sinuously in the power of new-discovered sensation I abandoned myself to this surely forbidden pleasure, flinging back my hair, enticing him with rapturous cries, revelling in the strength, the heat of him, as we strove together towards a powerful, shuddering release.
 

Spent and satiated, we fell apart at last to lie in the drowsy aftermath of love. Lazily entwined, we watched the sunlight flicker through the branches and Miles covered me with little kisses.
 

As we strolled back through bracken and heather, his arm about my waist, he told me how he returned from Burgundy to take up soldiering for Warwick, and after the Earl’s disgrace, he joined the Duke of Gloucester’s men.
 

“I’ve pledged my allegiance, Nan, and nothing will make me change. Gloucester’s bound by loyalty to his brother, the King, as am I to him. He’s a good man and we’re fortunate in his patronage.” He stopped to look me in the eye. “But no more fortune-telling—”

“But what about the dream?”
 

Guilt bloomed in my cheeks, for hadn’t I read the cards for Agnes Moore already? Little Amy tattled of the new game she’d caught me playing, intriguing Agnes. Before long she persuaded me to share my secret. Miles’ warning caused a sharp stab of anxiety. Could I trust Amy? Agnes called her a “canny” lass. I wondered how many others she told about my skill with the cards?

“Put it aside, lass,” he said. “I’ll not go chasing after a pair of mysterious brothers, however noble! Don’t look so serious. If fate will have us find them, then let it be so—until then, let’s enjoy life while we can!”

Somehow Miles made my fears evaporate like morning mist. Anxious to please him, I immersed myself in my new life. Love makes fools of all of us. Hadn’t I learned that lesson from Eleanor? But Mara’s wisdom and Brother Brian’s advice faded into insignificance while I plunged recklessly into passion. I think I was delirious that summer. I spent my days with Agnes and her friends and wallowed in Miles’ love-making by night. Never had I felt so young or happy.

This feverish existence couldn’t last. Presently I noticed things that intruded on my perfect contentment. Miles disappeared on a number of puzzling errands. Amy evaded my questions but her sly smile vexed. Agnes pretended ignorance and Lucy eyed me suspiciously. When I questioned Miles he grew tetchy. I realised my adored husband had secrets of his own that he wouldn’t share. They say Love’s blind. But how long can his foolish blindness keep us in thrall? I had welcomed Miles as the passionate lover of my dreams. Now I found him flawed. What was everyone hiding from me?

Chapter Forty-Four

“Who is she?”

Agnes plucked me by the sleeve, trying to divert my attention to a fine display of fabrics. I’d never seen such pure dyes and several women, including fat Lucy from the buttery, exclaimed over the quality of the wool. But the flaxen-haired wench with the bold stare demanded my notice. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at her.

“Look at this, Nan.” Agnes lifted a heather-coloured worsted. “Have you ever seen the like?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve noticed her in the market.” I ran the cloth between my finger and my thumb. “But I’ll swear today she wants me to pay her heed. And you’re equally determined to avoid my questions. Now tell me, who is she? If you don’t tell me, I’ll ask someone else.”

I looked pointedly at Lucy but she pretended to be engrossed in examining a length of green wool, so I turned again to eye the buxom figure leaning against the wall. “Or better still, I’ll go myself to ask her what she wants of me.”

“Nay, don’t do that!” Agnes seized my arm. “Pay her no mind. She’s bent on making mischief.”

“What cause has she to single me out? Until I came to Barnard, I never clapped eyes on her before. There’s some secret here.”

“No secret.” Agnes smoothed her calloused hand over a plum coloured velvet. “Her name’s Chrissie Burnham and her father’s a tapster in Staindrop. Her mother’ll likely be hereabout somewhere for they’re often here on market days.”

The woman by the wall rewarded me with an insolent smile as if she sought to challenge my presence at the market. Something in the jut of her hips and careless fold of her arms implied self-assurance. The saucy curl of her red lips suggested she knew a good deal more than I did about certain matters. An instinctive prickle of dislike roused in me an irrational desire to box her ears. When I confided this to Agnes, she sniggered and whispered something to Lucy that made her cackle like a hen after laying an egg.
 

“Ee, but thou art a canny wench,” she said.

“Aye, you’ve got the measure of Chrissie Burnham and no mistake,” said Agnes.

Our laughter disturbed the handsome figure by the wall, for she pulled herself upright and thrust out her elbows as if ready to counter some offence. I couldn’t help but admire the brazen courage of her.

“I daresay she’s many admirers. She’s comely enough in a kind of shameless manner, but I can’t see what quarrel she might have with me.”

The quick exchange of glances between Agnes and Lucy and the uncomfortable shuffling of the other women suddenly enlightened me, as clear as if a voice spoke in my head.

“This has something to do with Miles.”

The words scarce fell from my lips when an older, plumper woman carrying a black-haired child joined the wench. They huddled into conversation, and then, taking the child from her mother, for I’d no doubt this older woman was she, the fair-haired wench turned deliberately so I might see the child quite clearly. It was like a slap in the face.

Agnes squeezed my arm. “It was a long time ago. No one can be sure about it. Chrissie Burnham’s so free with her favours hereabouts I doubt she’s sure herself who fathered the brat. Pay her no mind. She just wants to make trouble. She can’t bear to see someone else’s got him for a husband. No one in the dale could swear who that bairn’s father is.”

I loved Agnes for the comfort of her bluster but I’d no doubt who’d sired the black-haired boy.
 

I nodded at the wench in acknowledgement, and holding my head high, turned back toward the castle. “I think I’ve seen enough of the market today,” I said.
 

Approaching our apartment in the Headlam Tower above the old gate-house, I heard a stifled squeal. Thrusting open the door, I came face to face with a giggling, pink-cheeked Amy. The smile fell from her mouth. Nevertheless, her eyes darted sly backward glances as she adjusted her bodice and smoothed her dishevelled hair.
 

“What’s going on?” I asked a sheepish-looking Miles.

“A jest—nothing more.” He feigned a grin and gave Amy a quick tap on the bottom. “Off with you now and no more nonsense. What would your aunt say if she knew you were tangling with such a rogue?”

Amy’s flush deepened but the saucy pout didn’t deceive me. She looked out from under veiled eyelids, nostrils flaring, like a pretty little filly who knows she’s admired. With a bob of a curtsey she sidled out through the open door, casting a quick, furtive glance over her shoulder.
 

“Nan,” said Miles smoothly, taking my basket. “I thought you’d gone to the market. Didn’t you find anything to suit your fancy?”

I turned on him immediately, berating him for his lechery with the fury of an ale-wife until at last I could speak no more and dissolved into violent sobs. He let me weep myself into snivelling silence and then, wrapping an arm around my shoulders, drew me to the settle.

“Have you finished with me now?” He grimaced. “Or is there more? I can’t think this outburst was caused just by my teasing a foolish serving-wench. I think you’ve something else in mind.”

“Chrissie Burnham is on my mind,” I said. I spat the words into his face as a snake does its venom and saw the sudden recoil in his eyes.

“Ah,” he said and turned his glance aside.

“Is that all you have to say?” My voice shrilled with spite.

“I wondered how long it would be before she showed up. Well, now you’ve seen her. What’s there to say? I never lied to you about my past and I’ve no doubt you heard some pretty tales of me at Middleham. But Chrissie Burnham has no more claim on me than any other man.”

“She has your child.”

“Perhaps, perhaps not.” He shrugged his shoulders. “She couldn’t swear to it.”

“You would deny your own son?” I asked bitterly. Envious tears filled my eyes.

“I can’t be certain he’s mine.” He gathered me to him with a sigh. “But I’ve seen she doesn’t want for anything. The lad’s better off than most.”

“And then I find you dallying with Amy.”
 

Miles laughed. “By the Rood, tell me you don’t believe I’d seriously tangle with Amy Sadler? I teased the wench—nothing more.”

He held me at arm’s length so he could look into my face the better, then kissed me soundly, assuring me of his continued affection, cosseting me with tender words and soft caresses until I ached to believe him.
 

“I know what you need.”
 

He picked me up and carried me to bed. His hands were busy at my laces even before we’d fallen backward. I didn’t try to struggle.
 

Chapter Forty-Five

Standing by the casement one fine July evening, engrossed in watching the young horses paraded to and fro in the courtyard, I didn’t hear Miles slip into the chamber. A prickle of disquiet finally turned me.