The Rope Dancer (12 page)

Carys tucked one pie into the fullness of her tunic and said to Deri, “I can eat no more. Can we look at the fairings now? There is nothing more Joris can say to me before he sees my skill.”

Perhaps, she thought, if I come back alone and speak their speech and spend time with them, I will find myself again and the feeling of strangeness will pass. But her heart sank and the food she had eaten, delicious as it was, lay in her stomach like lead at the thought, and her eyes were blind with tears when Deri offered his shoulder again and they walked away.

Carys shed her worries while she and Deri wandered among the torchlit booths. Like others in the crowd, she gasped and murmured with admiration as the merchants and craftsmen held up various items for display, particularly those that glittered with bright bits of quartz or glass or gleamed with the sheen of silk in the flaring and uncertain light. She was unaware of her own reactions, merely taking pleasure in what she rarely had a chance even to admire. Usually Carys had been performing at fairs where such goods were displayed. And players had not been welcome among the booths of the merchants. Sad experience of being accused of wishing to steal and driven away had taught Carys to keep to her own part of the fair.

Deri was more accustomed to shows of this type. Telor was often invited to sing at weddings and knightings, and Deri had little to do when he was playing servant instead of fool and often examined the goods. He found himself touched by the impression of youth and innocence Carys transmitted by her wonder and open enjoyment. Twice he barely restrained himself from purchasing some trinket for her because her eyes followed it with such longing and because she did not hint at the smallest expectation of having that longing satisfied. Deri had not had the pleasure of satisfying someone’s desire since he had lost his wife and his younger siblings. The urge to hear the cries of joy and see the total absorption when the unexpected trinket was disclosed was very strong. Telor’s friendship satisfied most of Deri’s need to love, but not the need to give and to care for.

Deri checked the impulse partly because he suspected that what was offered for sale by torchlight might be found to be ill made by daylight, but a stronger reason was his fear that Carys would believe the gift was to buy her favors and would show her revulsion. He did not want her—he did not want any woman except his sweet Mary—but he did not want to see the horrified sickness in her eyes either. So far she had treated him like any other man, and that was very pleasant. Still, he marked what she desired—most passionately a comb and secondly a net of bright silken cords of gold shaped to fit the head and hold a woman’s hair. He would look again at the items the next day to see if they were good quality, and perhaps if she found a place with some troupe he could give the things as parting gifts.

Later, when they had watched some tumbling and the antics of the fool of the second troupe, Deri decided he would have to find some other way to give Carys her comb and net that would make clear he desired nothing in return. He could not see a place for her in this second group, and he noticed that she made no move to introduce herself to those players who were idly watching their fellows and the crowd. By the time the acts were over and Carys had set her uneaten pie on the edge of the stage as payment for the entertainment, the torches were guttering out and not being renewed, except near the guard post at the small gate.

“It is time to go back,” Deri said.

“Yes,” Carys agreed immediately.

Her voice sounded sad, and Deri said, “You did not need to leave the pie. I will buy you another.” He did not think she regretted the pie, but he wanted to offer her something to raise her spirits.

She smiled then. “I do not think I could eat it, not even tomorrow. I am heavy with food. You and Telor are very good to me. I wish—No, I do not know what I wish.”

Telor did not see Carys when he came to get Teithiwr the next morning, soon after those who wished to participate in the hunt had departed. She had scampered up into the rafter at dawn to be out of the way of the shouting noblemen, harried grooms, and excited horses after Deri had been pressed into service to help get the mounts saddled up for their impatient masters. When all sound of the merry chaos of barking dogs, calling huntsmen, and yelling hunters had streamed away through the portcullis and over the bridge, Carys had begun to come down, only to clamber back on her perch in response to a noblewoman’s high-pitched, angry voice shouting for a groom to bring her mare
now
, so she could catch up with the hunt.

The animal was found and saddled and the lady away in a very few minutes, but Carys continued to sit quietly on the beam. She thought she might have been in serious trouble if the lady had seen her and she had to confess she did not know how to saddle a horse. It was better to stay where she was until all chance of more latecomers was over. A few minutes later she saw Telor come in followed by Deri, who looked very angry.

Telor was accustomed to Deri’s reaction. He was sorry the dwarf had seen him coming for his horse only moments after Lady Marguerite had departed, but he could only point out, as he saddled Teithiwr as fast as he could, that the choice had not been his. “She bade me meet her after the hunt had left. You know it would be far, far, worse for me
not
to meet Lady Marguerite than to be seen meeting her. She can find excuses for our meeting, and so can I, but she would have me gelded if I seemed to scorn her.”

“And if her husband catches you, he will have you gelded—before he has your guts ripped out and strung around your neck so he can hang you with them,” Deri snarled. “Choice, pfah! If you did not look at them as if they were covered in honey and you could not wait to lick it off—”

“What an idea!” Telor exclaimed, then suddenly laughed and struck Deri on the shoulder. “You are a fine one to talk,” he remarked. “You had better go up to the keep and make your peace with the maid named Edith before she complains to her mistress about you. She looked very black when she asked me where you were. She said you had promised to meet her during the singing. I excused you for last night by saying I had ordered you to watch over my new apprentice lest he get into trouble—but that will not serve for another day.”

He laughed again at Deri’s indignant expression and led Teithiwr out of the stable before the dwarf could protest that futtering a maid was a different matter from playing with a noblewoman, calling over his shoulder as he mounted, “Go take care of that business in the keep while I see to this other matter.”

Deri’s indecent comment drifted after him, but Telor only grinned and waved and urged Teithiwr into a quick trot. He was not much concerned about Lady Marguerite’s husband; Sir Raul, he was sure, would notice only what was forcibly thrust under his nose, and Lady Marguerite was too discreet, too clever—and basically too indifferent—to endanger them by making blatant mistakes. Then Telor’s lips curved into a sensuous smile; she clearly enjoyed him enough to take some chances. A sudden eagerness led him to urge Teithiwr faster, but he reined the horse back to a trot immediately. No doubt Lady Marguerite had gone careening through the lower bailey only moments before in her pretense of chasing after the hunt. It was better for him to keep a more moderate pace lest his haste and hers be connected.

Once out of the keep, Telor spotted her from the vantage of the high ground. She had turned short of the village and was riding across the stream toward the woods on the other side. Telor had no choice but to follow the road down from the keep, since it was the only way, but he went straight through the village without crossing the stream. He kept to the road, knowing that it would debouch on the Fosse Way, which ran northeast and southwest. If he turned right on the Fosse Way, he would soon be hidden from the village by a narrow tongue of woods. As soon as the road crossed the stream, he could turn right again into the wood just north of where Lady Marguerite had entered it.

Since no game larger than a hare could be found in the little hemmed-in woodland, the hunt either would go north into forestland behind the castle or would cross the Fosse Way and go west. Telor was sure that he and Lady Marguerite would have this little piece of land all to themselves for several hours.

He found her without difficulty, and it occurred to him as he dismounted that she must have done this many times. A faint distaste dulled his anticipation; nonetheless, she was a lovely creature, her hand soft as down in his, her face pink and white, her eyes sparkling, and he remembered what Deri had said; perhaps it was true, perhaps if he had not looked at her with desire, she would not have invited him to meet her. In any case, she was taking a risk for this meeting, and he owed her pleasure.

“It is not far,” he said. “Will you come down and walk, or shall I lead your horse?”

“What is not far?” she asked, quirking up a brow.

“A bower fit for a fairy queen to sit and dream in, or to take her pleasure in, or to talk and laugh in—as my queen commands.”

Her expression, which had been cynical, almost bitter, softened. “Ah, Telor,” she sighed, shaking her head gently, “you have a silver tongue. I will come down and walk.” She put her hands on his shoulders.

He grasped her around her waist and lifted her down in a smooth, easy movement, holding her a little above the ground for just a brief instant while he allowed his lips barely to brush her throat. And as he set her down he murmured, “I beg pardon, my lady. I wish you were not so very beautiful.”

“What?” she cried, but the face turned up to his was smiling. “That is most unkind.”

“But you are dangerous to me,” he whispered. “You are such a temptation that I take chances that might offend you. I have no right to touch you other than at your command.”

“Yet if I command, how can I know you do not obey out of fear rather than desire?”

Telor laughed. “Come, in five minutes I will show you an answer to that question.”

He took the reins of both horses in one hand and slipped the other about Lady Marguerite’s waist. He had made his formal excuses and could now take certain small liberties that would grow steadily greater as long as Lady Marguerite smiled and did not protest. In a way this delicate balancing between wooing and offending was a nuisance, and a flickering vision of a pointed fox face came between his eyes and the bland pink and white countenance at which he was gazing. If Carys had been willing, there would have been teasing and laughter and truth instead of flattery…Telor cut short the thought. It was not all flattery. Lady Marguerite was beautiful—but she was no danger to his heart.

Telor turned a trifle eastward along a faint path, and in less than five minutes they arrived at a small clearing that edged a place where another, smaller brook had been dammed to form a pool. Lady Marguerite stopped and took a step away from him. When she turned her head toward him, her eyes were cold.

“You have been here before,” she said.

“Yes,” he agreed, smiling and seeming unconscious of her jealousy. “It is a favorite spot for Lord de Dunstanville’s lady and daughters. Whenever I come here in summer and the weather permits, they bid the servants bring food, and I play and sing for them. Sometimes they invite neighbors and dance on the grass.”

“Liar,” she said, but her voice was softer. “You come here with women.”

Telor looked shocked, which was not all pretense because he was troubled that Lady Marguerite should care whether he had other women. He had made love to her four or five times before, and she had clearly been playing a light game. There was something different in her manner this time that worried him.

“I am not so crude as that,” he said. “I would not bring
you
to a place where I tumbled a village maiden. That would be like…like sacrilege. And whom else could I bring? Can you think I would look with desire on the lady of this keep?” He paused while Lady Marguerite lowered her eyes and tried not to laugh; de Dunstanville’s wife was no beauty. “Nor am I so much the fool as to play with a young girl,” he went on. “I would not pierce the heart of a child who does not understand what is…impossible.” He waited, looking at her anxiously, and then murmured, “I beg you, my lady, only sit by the water with me for a little time. I take such joy in your company.”

She looked at him and saw that there was no fear in his expression, only a kind of worried tenderness, and she looked away fearing that tears would come into her eyes. “Oh, go and tie the horses,” she said. “You could convince the devil to pray.”

He came back unrolling the blanket that was always tied behind the saddle, and he folded it in half and set it on a flat rock that protruded into the pool. The water was very still there, and he came to her smiling and drew her to the place.

“I have not forgotten your question about how you could be sure I wished to touch you from my own will or for fear of yours,” he said. “Come kneel here and look down and you will see the answer I promised you.”

“I will see nothing but my own face,” she protested, laughing, but she knelt on the blanket and looked into the water.

After a moment, Telor touched her cheek gently. “Is that not answer enough?” he murmured. “When you smile, it is like the sun rising, and when you talk to me of my music and where I found the words to go with it, your eyes are so bright, so clear…”

She shuddered at his touch, and then put up her hand to turn his head so that he too was looking into the water. “Yes,” she breathed, “look there. Look into the water. Do not look so close at me that you will see the wrinkles and the lines—”

“Oh, my lady.” Telor sighed, pulling her into his arms. “How can you be so foolish? There is beauty in your soft skin and sweet face—that is true—but there is far more beauty in the look of cleverness in your eyes, in the warmth of your smile, in your quick wit—”

For a moment she clung to him fiercely, but then she leaned back far enough for their lips to meet, and her kiss was as fierce as her embrace had been. Telor responded in kind for a while, but then he eased his hold on her and softened the pressure of his mouth on hers. Almost at once she stiffened and pulled away completely, but Telor had begun to kiss her nose and chin in little playful pecks, and she sighed and closed her eyes until he whispered with his lips almost against hers, “Come, let me lift you up. You cannot kneel here longer or your knees will get all bruised—poor little dimpled knees.”

Lady Marguerite laughed at that, but her breath caught in the midst of the laughter, and when Telor drew her to her feet and leaned down to snatch up the blanket, he thought she might push him away or run away. She did neither, however, standing quietly and staring into nothing as he walked to where the ground was dry, unfolded the blanket to a double thickness, and laid it down under one of the trees that bordered the small glade.

All the while, Telor cast quick, worried glances at Lady Marguerite. He could not guess what had happened to her; perhaps a noble lover had cast her aside. Poor lady, he thought, God help me ease your pain. With all your jewels and furs and silks, you bruise and bleed just like a village maiden. He went to her then and put one arm around her shoulders while working free the pin of her light cloak with his other hand. With that draped over his arm, he leaned down to kiss her ear and throat while he led her the few steps to where the blanket lay, holding her to him so she could feel the hard, ready shaft when he kissed her lips.

Ordinarily Telor was more cautious with a noblewoman and did not press ahead so fast, allowing the lady to signal the advance from one stage of wooing to the next. This time, he was so moved by sympathy, by the desire to rebuild Lady Marguerite’s pride by making her feel irresistible, that he cast aside caution. In the same good cause, he pretended more passion than he felt. He broke the kiss with a soft moan and turned her so that her back was to him. With one hand he pulled out the bow that held the lacing of her gown while the other pressed between her legs and served the double purpose of direct stimulation and keeping her buttocks tight against his groin so he could rub the hard, hot shaft against her.

By the time the laces were undone, Lady Marguerite was trembling. She helped him pull off her gown and bent to remove her shift while Telor tore off his jerkin and tunic, kicked off his shoes, and slid his braies down. He was reaching for the tie of his shirt when her hand fell on his and he saw she had not taken off the shift after all, nor her shoes and stockings.

“No,” she said, her eyes glassy with lust, fixed on the red, moist, exposed head of his penis, which thrust out under the hem of the shirt. “As you are! As you are!” And she slid down onto the blanket, holding out her arms for him.

Telor knelt beside her, bending to kiss her throat while his hand caressed her breast through the thin shift, but she hooked a hand around one of his thighs and drew him between her legs, breathing, “Love me, minstrel, love me. I am ready.”

The sigh of pleasure Telor uttered as he slid inside her was perfectly genuine, but the image that came into his mind as he drew and thrust again was of a narrow vixen face, fox-red hair in wild, curling disorder, great golden eyes hidden in ecstasy. He banished the vision angrily, opening his eyes to give his full attention to the woman he was loving, but oddly the greater beauty cooled rather than excited him. There was no harm in that; he was able because of it to bring Lady Marguerite twice to shuddering, wailing culminations before his seed sprang forth, but he was deeply disturbed by Carys’s intrusion into his mind.

When Telor had caught his breath, he lifted himself off his partner and sat beside her, gently running a finger over her flaccid hand. “Lovely,” he murmured. “A water nymph, caught and drawn from the pool, my prize for an hour. How heavy my heart because I cannot hold her.”

Lady Marguerite’s eyes had opened as soon as Telor spoke, and she had been staring at him. He should have been smiling, mischief in his blue eyes; instead he looked troubled and sad. She sat up suddenly and said, “Stop! Hold that beguiling tongue of yours, Telor Luteplayer. You have done me harm enough. Do you know I
dream
of you?”