The Falcons of Montabard (37 page)

A procession of attendants arrived in the room bearing pails

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of hot and cold water from the kitchen cauldrons and set about filling the tub. Annais handed Guillaume to Soraya and, with her heart in her mouth, came to help Sabin unarm. The air was so laden with steam and tension that she found it difficult to breathe.

'The patrol went well?' she asked as he bent over and she tugged the hauberk over his head. The greased rings slipped against her fingers and the weight of it dragged her arms down.

'Yes . . . that is, there were no signs of raids or encroachments.' Sabin took the hauberk from her and draped it across the top of Gerbert's coffer. She saw him pause as he noticed the bare wall where the clothing chest had stood. When he turned from the task, his brows were raised.

'I have begun sorting in your absence,' she said, and knew that her face was burning.

Again he measured her with a glance, but said nothing before breaking the eye contact to remove his gambeson. The rest of his clothes followed. Annais busied herself sorting them out, casting the shirt and braies into a rushwork laundry basket, setting the tunic and hose aside to be aired and brushed. By the time she had finished, Sabin was safely in the tub and swilling himself with the herb-scented water.

She handed him the dish of soap and the cloth. The depth of the tub and Sabin's slightly raised knees meant that his genitals were concealed from her view. She dipped a pitcher in one of the spare pails of mixed hot and cold water and tipped it smartly over his head.

The sound of his splutter made her smile and succeeded in dissipating some of the tension building within her.

'I hope you don't bathe guests in such a wise,' he gasped.

'At Coldingham I was taught perfectly well how to bathe guests,' she said pertly. 'Since it was an ancient and honoured custom, the Prioress made sure that all the secular girls in her care knew what to do.'

'Surely she didn't encourage you to drown them and get soap in their eyes!'

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'You are exaggerating. It's your own fault. Sit still . . . and don't look gift horses in the mouth.' She lathered his hair and sluiced him again. Guillaume had been set on the floor by the maid, and he crawled over to the tub and pulled himself up on its wooden side where he proceeded to giggle at his stepfather and point. Sabin threatened him with a soapy fist, which only made Guillaume squeal the louder.

'I yield,' Sabin declared. 'How am I ever to discipline either of you when you give me your tongue and he laughs in my face?'

Treacherous pleasure, akin to happiness, washed over Annais. This was the first occasion since their marriage that there had been any form of lightness or banter. That it was a fragile mood, she knew well, but the fact that it was present at all could only be a good omen. Even the environs of the room were no threat: the oppressive presence of the bed was negated by the company of the servants and the child. It was a public arena, not a tortured private one.

'I'm sure you will think of a way.' Annais handed him a dry wash cloth to press against his face. A white scar snaked along the tanned line of his forearm. She followed it down to his splayed fingers, thin and hard, then hastily averted her gaze and fetched one of the large cotton towels. Sabin took it from her and stepped from the tub. She busied herself finding him fresh raiment and by the time she returned to him, Sabin had tucked the towel around his hips and padded away from the tub. He poured himself a cup of wine and tore a chunk off the bread. Guillaume was industriously crawling towards him. Sabin scooped him up and broke off a piece of crust for the infant to gnaw.

Annais watched with wonder. 'Most men would run a mile from a baby, let alone do as you are doing,' she said.

Sabin's lips curved sheepishly. 'I was seven years old when my youngest half-brother was born
-
twice that age when my stepmother birthed the children of her second husband. Before I left for King Henry's court, I had plenty of time to grow accustomed to small brats.'

'Do you ever think of them?' She lifted Guillaume out of

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his arms in exchange for the shirt and braies.

'Of course I do. I may have left my old life behind but the memories still cross the divide. I wrote to Simon only last month when—' He broke off and changed what he had been going to say. '—and told him that I was making a life here and not to look for me on returning pilgrim ships. Oh, and I sent Helisende that bolt of gold silk I promised her.' Between mouthfuls of bread and swallows of wine, he donned the garments.

'You should move your baggage here,' she said. 'There is room now and it would be more convenient for all.'

He looked at her thoughtfully and she wondered if her cheeks were as red as they felt. It was stupid to feel as if she were importuning him, for the suggestion was eminently practical.

'I know that you still need somewhere for your own solitude—'

'My monk's cell,' he interrupted with a pained smile.

Now her face was indeed burning but she was determined to finish. '—but surely you can keep your clothes here.'

Behind them came the noise and slosh of the bathtub being emptied. Sabin donned the hose that the maid had brought, an indoor tunic of soft indigo-dyed linen and a narrow leather belt. 'Why not?' he said, and turned his attention to Amalric who had arrived with the message that the constable and the steward were waiting in the hall to make their report. 'We'll talk later.' He kissed Annais's cheek, surrounding her with the fragrance of citrus and olive, and left the room.

She pressed her hand to her face, and frowned, for she had not missed the way he glanced at the bed. That she thought, was the obstacle. Remove it, and matters would ease considerably. But it was also a symbol of the continuity and power of the lords of Montabard and for that reason alone it had to remain. One day it would be Guillaume's and the castle with it. For now it was held in trust. . . and because of that obligation, it was a shackle.

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Sabin dealt swiftly with the outstanding business presented by his steward and constable. He read such letters as had arrived in his absence and replied to the messengers when the words required were verbal. One such courier had ridden in earlier that day, a slim, yellow-haired Armenian with a pox-scarred face. His news was swift and simple. The river was low, Balak was absent, struggling with his recalcitrant subjects in Aleppo, and an attempt was to be made to rescue the King.

'I will come,' Sabin said without hesitation, although inwardly he grimaced. Montabard was safe enough to be left, he judged, but the news came when he needed a little personal leeway.

Business finished, he did not return to the solar and Annais, but, refusing company, turned a circuit of the wall walk. His first impulse when he had ridden out on patrol had been to go to a certain house in one of the villages and ease his need on one of the women there, but he had curbed the urge. Even if the tale did not get back to Annais, it would have shown a lack of respect for his wife among the soldiers. Onan's sin was somewhat less pleasurable, and carried a penalty when confessed, but a lesser one than adultery, and could be accomplished almost as swiftly as voiding the bladder.

Still, that temporary release might as well not have existed when he had walked into the bedchamber and set eyes upon Annais with her wide, doe-brown gaze, slightly parted lips and swift breathing. Once he would have acted decisively upon such signs, but now he was more circumspect. He had noticed how she had turned away rather than see him naked, and her reaction could be as much about uncertainty and fear as it was about desire. He scooped his hands through his hair and laughed at himself. Doubtless her responses were akin to his and the only thing to do to find out for sure was to grasp the rose by the thorns and find out if the deed was worth the boldness. There was little opportunity to procrastinate. The messenger from Kharpurt had made sure of that.

Reaching the end of the wall walk, he paused to watch the sun setting on the seaward side of the hills, a great orange orb

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melting into a copper and violet sky. In the dusk, he descended the stairs and made his way to the hall. The trestles were being set out for the evening meal and attendants were bringing piles of flat bread from the kitchens and flagons of wine. He climbed the outer staircase to the solar and found the women about their usual duties of spinning and weaving. Guillaume was napping in his cradle and there was no sign of Annais.

Soraya came to him and gave him an eloquent look from her kohl-lined eyes. 'My lady said that she had gone to seek you out . . . perchance you have missed each other in passing.'

Sabin smiled at the irony of the remark. 'Perchance, yes,' he said.

'Will you stay and wait for her?'

'No.' His reply was swift. 'I want a word alone . . . and I am too restless this night to sit — attractive though the surroundings might be.'

Sabin went back out and, as he dropped the curtain behind him, the women exchanged glances. One or two sighed rather nostalgically. There was a debate as to whether the women should leave the chamber in order to give the couple privacy later. Letice thought it an excellent idea, but it was the gentler Soraya who spoke out.

'No, let it be,' she said. 'I doubt they will need these rooms this side of dawn.'

Sabin crossed the compound and, at the gatehouse, paused to speak with the guards who were preparing to change the watch. Then, kindling a brand from the stack in the corner, he climbed the stairs to his quarters, intent on preparing his belongings to be brought to the rooms above the hall.

His chamber door was shut. He hesitated before it, drew a breath, and set his hand to the latch.

Annais was sitting on his bed, her hands folded in her lap and her posture composed, although he could tell straight away from her expression that it was artifice.

'You are not surprised to see me?' she said.

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'When I did not find you in the women's chambers and I knew you were not in the hall, I suspected this is where you were.' He set the torch in a bracket beside the door and came further into the room. 'I was going to give the order to move my belongings across the ward.'

She watched him with wide, dark eyes and moistened her lips. 'But not yet,' she said. 'Not at this moment.'

He smiled at her. 'It can wait a while,' he murmured. 'Certainly longer than a moment.'

She rose from the bed leaving a small indentation on the tightly drawn coverlet. 'Your monk's cell,' she said with an uncertain gesture as she went to the flagon and cups standing on the coffer beneath the arrow-slit. He followed her and took her elbow before she could pour the wine.

'Do you really want a drink, or is it a matter of form?' he asked.

Annais faced him. A rapid pulse beat in her throat. 'You said earlier that you wanted to talk,' she said hoarsely.

'That was earlier.' Sabin's voice was equally constricted. 'What I want now—' He broke off to run his finger from her temple to her throat. 'Well, you must know, or you would not be here now, for I do not think that you have come with the intention of talking either.'

They stared at each other, holding back for a final instant. Then she stepped against him and coiled her arms around his neck and his mouth sought hers. The first kiss was a wild plunder and Sabin knew that the fierceness could not be sustained at this level for more than a few minutes. A part of him did not care. A part of him desired the pounding, immolating heat of a hard, fast coupling, but he held it back, like a beast on a leash of forged steel chains.

Taking his mouth from hers, he buried his face in the soft warm flesh of her neck. Her rapid breathing sawed against his ear and she clung to him tightly. He drew her with him to the bed. 'This certainly isn't a monk's cell now,' he said hoarsely, 'and nor is the kind of worship about to be offered.'

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She
gazed
up at him, her eyes as dark as a doe's. 'Should you not extinguish the light?' she asked.

He glanced at the oil lamp on the coffer and then at the torch, flaring smokily in its socket. 'Do you want me to?'

'I ... Gerbert didn't like—' she broke off. 'I am sorry. I do not want to invite his ghost in here too.'

'You won't,' Sabin said, although he grimaced inwardly. Gerbert's ghost would always be with them in some degree, he thought. 'Let the light remain then.' He could imagine Gerbert's staid character preferring that the lamps be extinguished. Coupling was a duty as well as a pleasure, and it was easier to believe in the duty if the act was conducted without too much sensuality.

As he had once done before on their wedding night, Sabin unpinned Annais's wimple and unbound her hair, but this time he ran his fingers through the strands with slow beguilement and this time it was soft beneath his touch and silky with recent washing. This as much as anything revealed to him that the degree of her mourning had changed since their first night together. He unfastened the side lacings of her gown and slipped his hands inside, to the warmer layer of her chemise. Through the fine cotton, he felt the arch of her rib cage and the sleek curve of her breasts. She made soft, needful sounds in her throat as Sabin rubbed fabric against flesh and her nipples hardened beneath his coaxing.

It was like playing a tune, he thought; she was his harp, and he the caller of the notes. Slowly, tenderly, ruthlessly, he built the melody and watched the pleasure-pain flash across her face, felt the clutching of his fingers as he composed another strand, heard the catch of her breath. Then he too was caught in the spell he had woven; he could not detach himself from the song, but found mind and body blending with the rising notes of the paean.

Between kissing and fondling, sucking and stroking, they removed each layer until skin encountered skin. Hot, damp, salty with need and need controlled. She was sobbing now, and

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would have bitten her lip at the exquisite sensations being drawn from her body, save that Sabin was biting them instead: small, capturing nibbles that stole her breath and spoke of a ravening hunger barely held in check. The notion of being overtaken by that full feeding frenzy filled her with lust and joy and just a hint of fear. She bit him in return, and arched against him, watching his hands smooth their alchemy on her wet body, the tips of his dark hair trembling with sweat in tune to his heartbeat. She parted her thighs and felt his rigid flesh like a brand against her thigh, then higher, twice seeking, and on a final adjustment, sheathing with a slow burn that made her cry aloud.