Time to Love Again (17 page)

Half fainting with desire, she could make no
answer. She could only stand unresisting while he removed her
teddy, leaving her clad only in lacy black knee-high stockings and
equally lacy gold bra. Swaying on her feet, she watched him tear
off his own clothing, shamelessly exposing his need for her. She
whimpered when he caught her at the waist, lifting her off her feet
again, thrusting at her as he did so. Instinctively, she wrapped
her arms around his neck. Then she screamed with surprise and
swiftly mounting passion when he pulled her legs up and around his
waist at the same instant that he entered her with a hard, jabbing
movement.

It was there again, filling her mind and her
every breath, that aching, primitive desire he roused in her each
time they made love. It was beyond rational control; it overcame
her with terrifying speed, leaving her incapable of thought. Driven
half to delirium by a need she could not, and did not want, to
fight, she gave in to the demands of her passion for him. She
moaned when Theu carried her toward the bed, the motion of his
powerful thighs pushing him deeper into her with every step. The
force of their joined fall onto the bed drove him deeper still, his
manhood piercing her body and her heart with a sweet, sharp joy as
thrust followed vigorous thrust until her overwhelmed senses could
endure no more and with a final, ecstatic cry she soared with him
into rapturous completion.

When darkness fell, Theu sat at the table
with the tray of sand and his
brunia
before him. India had
lit a second oil lamp, and the fire in the firepit burned brightly,
so there were few shadows in the little house. She poured a cup of
wine and pushed it toward him, being careful not to spill any on
the armor. He did not take his eyes off the
brunia
. Working
on a sleeve, he pushed a handful of sand through the chain mail,
rubbing, rubbing, then lifted more sand and began again.

“Is it ever finished?” India asked, taking up
a portion of the other sleeve, which he had not cleaned yet.

“When I finish, I begin again,” he said.
“Though sometimes when I am on campaign, I am unable to clean it
for a week or more.”

“So many links.” She looked more closely at
the mail. “Each forged separately, each fastened into a circle with
a tiny rivet. Every ring linked to four others.”

“As a warrior is linked to God, to his king,
to his friends. And to his love.” Theu’s eyes met hers. “If one
ring is broken, the wearer becomes vulnerable to wounding and
death. All the rings are necessary to the integrity of the whole
armor. Men are the same. Each person is necessary to all the others
in his world.”

“The fabric of life,” she said, scrunching up
a portion of the sleeve she held, feeling the crisp, cool metal in
her hands before she smoothed it out upon the table. “You would
make a fine philosopher, Theu.”

“Not I.” He laughed, his eyes on his work
again, his strong hands manipulating sand and metal. “If you want
philosophy, or an explanation of man’s proper place in this world
and the next, speak to Alcuin and his friends.”

“I will.”

He stopped working. He looked into her eyes
and put his hand over hers where it rested on top of his chain
mail. They sat that way for a long time.

Because he was busy with the preparations for
their departure from Aachen, Theu asked Marcion to ride with India
on the following day.

“See that you obey his orders on the handling
of your mount,” Theu told her sternly. “I want to hear of no
incident like yesterday’s, when you spent your horse
unnecessarily.”

It seemed to India that the look he gave her
was cool. Recalling that he had once told her he would never love
again, she wondered if he was concerned that they were growing too
close. Perhaps he had decided to put some emotional distance
between them. Or perhaps the revelations of the past two days had
damaged the fragile connection that bound them together. Watching
him go off with Hugo, she wanted to run after him, seeking
reassurance that what he felt for her was more than just a
particularly intense variety of sexual desire.

“Are you coming?” Marcion waited, observing
her with laughing yet shrewd eyes. “Will you tell me what
punishment Theu meted out to you for mistreating your horse? I
tried his patience in the same way once, when I was new to Francia,
before he knew me well. He sent me to muck out his stables for
three days. After that, I had a new appreciation of his intent to
be obeyed when he gives an order.”

“I wasn’t sent to the stables,” she said,
thinking about the passionate night just passed, “but I know what
you mean. I have seldom seen anyone so angry.”

Alone with her, Marcion proved to be the same
as he had been in the midst of Theu’s warband – an amusing
companion, a man with whom she could relax because the tension of
physical attraction was absent between them. He was also
knowledgeable about horses and patient with her ignorance of them.
But, in her continuing insecurity about her place in Theu’s life
and how long she would be able to remain with him, she would rather
have been with Theu, and she was happy to return to his house in
late afternoon.

He had a visitor. India and Marcion met the
man about to leave Theu’s house just as they were entering it.
India recognized him at once by his swarthy complexion and his
thick black beard and mustache. He was Guntram, one of Savarec’s
messengers.

“I hope nothing is amiss with Savarec,” she
said, fearing the rebellious Saxons might have done some harm to
Danise’s father.

“Not at all, Lord India,” Guntram replied.
“Savarec is in excellent health and sends his greetings to you.
Count Theuderic will tell you about the rest of my message.”

“You will be certain to take the groom back
with you,” Theuderic said in a commanding voice, “and tell Savarec
what I have reported about him. I will not have him in my party all
the way to Agen.”

“I have no doubt that he will soon be sent to
fight Saxons,” Guntram replied. “Fare you well, my friends. I
return to Savarec at once.”

When he had gone, Marcion looked at Theu with
raised eyebrows.

“What now?” he asked. “More trouble with the
Saxons?”

“Not this time,” Theu replied. “Savarec has
received an invitation from Charles, or to be more specific, from
Hildegarde. The queen has invited Danise and a female companion to
visit the court for the summer. Savarec has asked me to escort her
there.”

“Hugo will be delighted,” said Marcion,
adding in a joking voice and with a wink at India, “Do you think
Savarec still hopes to wed his daughter to Lord India? Is that his
reason for this request?”

“His message did not specifically mention
India,” Theu said, casting an amused glance at her, “but he may
intend that they grow fond of each other along the way. If that is
his plan, he will be greatly disappointed.” He looked as if he
might laugh, but sobered at Marcion’s next words.

“The additional women will slow us,” Marcion
noted. “And we know who the female companion will be. Where Danise
goes, Sister Gertrude goes, too.”

“I am not looking forward to her company,”
Theu admitted. “But Savarec was my father’s friend and has always
been mine. I could not in friendship say no to him.”

“Well, then, it’s settled,” said Marcion.

Apparently, Sister Gertrude did not think the
matter was settled at all. With Danise in tow, she swept up to Theu
and India just as the evening meal was ending. She spared a
piercing glance for India, who was wearing her woolen gown and
shawl.

“It is a great relief to me to discover that
Count Theuderic is not consorting with boys,” the nun remarked in
acid tones. Turning the full force of her tongue on Theu, she
added, “However, I am most displeased with your actions. You have
sent away the groom Savarec lent to us,” Sister Gertrude scolded
Theu. “You had no right to interfere in our affairs in that way.
How is our servant Clothilde to travel without a horse to ride? Who
will care for our horses during the journey? Answer me, Count
Theuderic!”

“I assume from your words that Savarec’s
messenger found you.” Theu did not mention what the dismissed groom
had tried to do to India, and he showed no sign of annoyance at
being verbally attacked before his own men and the residents of
Aachen.

“Found me and delivered his message,” the nun
snapped. “I am not happy about these new arrangements. A royal
court is no place for an innocent young girl.”

“Hildegarde is the most responsible of
queens.” Marcion’s declaration drew Sister Gertrude’s attention
from Theu to himself. “My own betrothed, the lady Bertille, resides
at court. I do assure you, she has suffered no loss of innocence
there. In fact, I am scarcely allowed to see her.”

“Which is very proper in the case of a young
maiden,” said Sister Gertrude. “But what about the journey to Agen?
The company of coarse men, the dangers upon the road – I cannot
understand why Savarec would allow his daughter to make such a
journey.”

“Because the queen invited her,” Theu said
patiently. “No doubt Savarec was thinking of Danise’s future, of
the ladies she will meet and make friends with at court.”

“But what are we to do for a groom?” cried
Sister Gertrude, returning to her original complaint.

“I will care for your horses along with my
own,” offered Hugo. “As for your servant, she can ride behind any
of the men she chooses.”

“Lord Hugo, you are most kind to help us,”
said Danise, who had remained silent through Sister Gertrude’s
protests. She sent a charming smile Hugo’s way, which Sister
Gertrude did not notice because she was again scolding Theu over
the loss of her groom and the change in plans and whatever other
lament came to her tongue.

“What a delightful journey this will be,”
said Marcion sarcastically to India while Theu listened to Sister
Gertrude with remarkable politeness.

“But at journey’s end you will meet your
Bertille once more,” India reminded him. She was not really
thinking about Marcion and his betrothed. She was thinking about
Theu. For a warrior noted for his ferocity, for a man with the kind
of temper he had displayed on several occasions, he was peculiarly
polite to women. She could not imagine any twentieth-century man
she knew enduring Sister Gertrude’s attacks without making a rude
response. Theu merely listened, agreed with the nun when possible,
or made some statement aimed at calming her ire.

Nor had he been rude to India – occasionally
rough, or frustrated, the day before furiously angry when she was
plainly at fault in the way she had used her horse, but never
deliberately rude. A firm respect for women showed in all his
dealings with them. It was yet another aspect of the character that
continued to intrigue and entice her – and to frighten her, too,
for the better she knew him, the more terrible the thought of
separation from him became.

During their final day and a half at Aachen,
India scarcely saw Theu. He came to bed late, after she was asleep,
and contented himself with a quick kiss and a hug before he closed
his eyes in weariness. In the morning he left before she wakened.
Knowing that he was busy and that his duty was vitally important to
him, she did not complain when she did see him, and she tried to
occupy herself with her own preparations for the coming trip.

Inspired by Theu’s sense of responsibility
and not wanting to have to depend on Hugo or one of the other men
to do her work for her as Sister Gertrude would do, she enlisted
one of the stableboys to instruct her in the proper care of her
horse while they were traveling. With Marcion’s help, she acquired
from an itinerant peddler a long woolen cloak and a brooch to
fasten it. She planned to wear the cloak with the tunic, trousers,
and boots in which she had come to the eighth century. She was
unable to use a sword to bolster her traveling disguise as a young
man, finding the weight of the broad, two-edged Frankish weapon
difficult to lift, and having no skill at all in its application,
but Hugo gave her a long knife and a belt to hold it.

“If you stay with Theu or one of us at all
times,” he advised, “you will be safe enough. There are men who
take only a knife and a spear and axe when they go off to join the
army, so the lack of a sword won’t make you especially noticeable,
but it would look strange if you had no weapon at all.”

On Theu’s orders, Hugo also found saddlebags
for her. She was fascinated to learn from Hugo that each man in the
Frankish army was expected to carry his own food supplies, enough
for three months. He told her that these were usually bread to eat
at first, coarsely ground flour to make more when the bread was
gone, a slab of bacon or some dried meat, and wine or ale to drink,
this last item to be replenished along the way.

“Though Charles is so strongly opposed to
drunkenness that any man found guilty of it is condemned to drink
only water until the campaign is over. And we all know how
unhealthy water is,” Hugo said with great seriousness. “It will
kill a man as fast as any enemy, sometimes faster.”

Considering the probable sources of water
available to a large army on the march, India could believe this
was no joking matter. She fastened a filled wineskin to the
saddlebags she had packed with food and rolled up her woman’s
clothing to squeeze into the remaining space in the bags.

On the night before they were to leave, her
personal preparations were complete. Knowing that it would be a
long time before she could again enjoy the luxury of a hot bath or
a shampoo, she took soap and towel to the spring next to Theu’s
house. In the light of the rising full moon, she soaped hair and
body, then rinsed and rinsed again. There was just enough moist
chill in the air to make her look forward with eagerness to the
moment when she would immerse herself in the hot water of the pool.
With a pleasant expectant shiver, she moved toward the edge,
watching the steam that drifted upward from the surface of the
water. Balancing on one foot, she cautiously dipped in a toe.