Fires of Winter (14 page)

I think I did sleep for a while, for I do not know when the maid left. I came awake when the mattress sagged under the weight of another body, but I could not have been deep in sleep because I knew at once who it was and what I must do. Memory of pain, of the slickness of blood on my thighs, of the hard contempt on the face of the man who had violated me without joy or pleasure flooded me with hate. My hand tightened on the hilt of the knife, ready to draw it forth and kill the moment he mounted me—but he did not touch me at all. I suppose that should have been a relief; it was not. I hated him more, both for making me wait to kill and for the scorn that dismissed me as not desirable.

I did not move and neither did he, but I knew he was no more asleep than I. And as my heart pounded out the long, slow minutes, my rage against him grew, and I remembered tales of the old days when the most common way to gain lands was to kill the holder and his male heirs and marry a daughter of the blood. Perhaps this creature had urged the king to let him take Ulle because he had already murdered my father and brother. The longer I lay tense and still beside him, the more reasonable that seemed to me; and the more reasonable it seemed, the more eager I grew to draw out the knife and cut out his heart.

I fought against that desire, knowing that my chance of success would be much greater if the man was asleep, and at last he turned on his back and after a little while the sound of his breathing changed. Then I dared draw the knife from its hiding place, little by little, and little by little, inch by inch, free my knife hand of the covers, turn on my back, and move my left arm so that I could lift myself up in one single, swift motion and stab downward.

I do not know what mistake I made. Perhaps I drew a deep breath before I thrust myself upright; perhaps I hesitated a tiny instant before I stabbed downward—although I had smothered it and buried it deep, there was a horror in me at the thought of killing. I was sure he was sound asleep when I moved. I know my left arm held down the coverlet so his right was imprisoned. And still, with all my precaution, I did not even prick him. As the knife swept down, when it was no more than a hairsbreadth from his throat, he put out his left hand and caught my wrist—without effort, without surprise, with the ease of a mother preventing the mischief of a baby—and laughed,
laughed
!

He did not even hurt me! He did not wrench my wrist or twist my arm. He was so strong that even though I was above him, pressing down, he simply raised my arm away from him and sat up—and laughed. And then he said the strangest thing: “Good evening, Lady Melusine. I am glad to meet you at last.”

I gaped at him, too stunned to make a sound, and he shook his head and grinned at me. I could see his expression well enough, for my eyes were accustomed to the dark and the night candle was behind me so the light fell full on his face. I swear he looked delighted. A chill of terror rippled along my spine. All I could think was that he had been waiting for an excuse to beat me to death and now had it.

“It is too late to look at me like that, my lady,” he said with a satisfied chuckle. “You never managed to convince the queen that you were an idiot, and your cleverness at obtaining and hiding a knife has given you away to me. I do not know the purpose of your game, but the game itself is now useless, so you may as well speak lies as act them. Come, give me the knife. I cannot let you keep it just now, and I do not wish to bruise you.”

I blinked at the last words, and looked down at the knife, realizing that though he still held my wrist too firmly for me to move it, he also held it gently. But if he intended to beat me for trying to kill him, why should he worry about a bruise on my wrist? Could I use the knife to defend myself? As the question rose in my mind I realized I had instinctively been straining against his hold all the time and his hand had not even quivered. It seemed to me that he was the strongest man I had ever come across in my life, for I remembered that my brothers had never been able to control me so easily. Later it occurred to me that I had essayed no trial of strength against my brothers since we were all children, but at the time all I felt was that any idea of self-defense was hopeless. I allowed my hand to fall open, and watched him pick up the knife, raising my eyes to his face to seem unafraid.

His smile had disappeared, but he did not beat me or turn the knife on me. He released my wrist and got out of bed, asking in an easy, cheerful voice, “From whom did you take the knife, my lady? I must return it.”

“It is yours,” I said, beginning to wonder whether the king and queen had decided to marry a madwoman to a madman. I had a vague memory of Maud telling me that Bruno was a sweet-tempered man, but even the sweetest of tempers must resent being a target for murder.

“Very clever, my lady.” He tossed the knife carelessly upon his chest and took a twig to the night candle to light the tapers on the stand where he had set the water for my washing in the morning. Then he turned toward me and nodded with what appeared to be real approval. “You saw that I did not wear hunting garb this morning and reasoned that I must have such a knife. Clever. Clever.”

Clever? What was clever about reasoning out so simple a matter as the fact that any man had a hunting knife and if he was not wearing it, it must be with his possessions? Yet he seemed to be gloating over my ability. But surely he could not really take pleasure in being the victim of attempted murder? Was this a cruel game to ease my fear and thus make my suffering worse when he attacked me?

“So how will you punish me?” I burst out. I suppose my fear made my glare at him seem more virulent.

To my surprise, he dropped his eyes and repeated sadly, “Punish you? Not in any way. I know you have cause to hate me—or fear me. What you did was natural enough. I hope someday we can both forget this, or laugh over it.”

Laugh over it? Laugh? What cause could I have to hate him or fear him? Because he burst into Ulle? But he had done me no harm except to look at me with contempt. Why should he look down as if ashamed over that? Perhaps it was not only that. Could the wild thought that he had been the one who killed Papa and Donald be true? I should have felt a new welling of hatred, but all I felt was confusion, which was compounded as I stared at him by my awareness of his naked body.

He was still standing close to the candles and I could see the thick muscles on his arms and chest and, in a swift glance that I could not resist, even though it shamed me, on his strong thighs. Between them, the hair was so dark that his shaft showed pale. My eyes fled from that at once, but not so soon that I did not see that he seemed larger than my brothers, and as I looked up I saw that he was staring at me. I was sure he had noticed where I was looking, and I shrank back. He turned away at once, caught the knife up off the chest and opened it to draw out a coarse tunic, which he pulled on after dropping the knife in the chest. Now I think I may still have been a bit mad, because I had so much to fear yet what troubled me was that Bruno had no bedrobe.

“You need not be afraid,” he said harshly. “I will not force you again.” He hesitated and then went on, still with his back to me. “I am sorry for taking you against your will last night, but I had given my word to the king and queen that I would make you my wife beyond contest or doubt—you must have known what would result when you agreed to accept me as your husband.”

“I never—” I began, and then fell silent.

Perhaps I
had
agreed to the marriage. I had no memory of it, but I had no memory of anything. Could I tell him that? Would he believe me? Recalling his words about my trying to convince the queen that I was an idiot, I doubted anything I said could shake his belief that I was playing some sly game. Besides, I did not want him to know of my weakness. He had turned to face me again and I met his eyes defiantly, not knowing what else to do.

“I want you to know,” he said, “that I was no more eager for this marriage than you—”

“And how could
you
be forced to marry?” I interrupted bitterly.

“I was told you were dangerous and that it was my duty.”

“Dangerous?” My voice squeaked in surprise, but it was fear that prevented me from laughing afterward, for Bruno's eyes flicked sidelong at the chest where lay the knife with which I had tried to kill him.

He merely shook his head and smiled, however, saying, “It is too late to pretend innocent frailty. You are a clever and beautiful woman, but I must warn you that I am not a man that can be led around by my rod. Neither beauty nor cleverness will turn me against the king and queen. I owe Stephen a great debt of gratitude and nothing will make me betray him.”

He called me clever and beautiful, but I grew cold again. I was sure he was telling the truth when he said that passion had no hold on him. I remembered what the women in the queen's chamber had said about Bruno that morning: The whore's son knew too much about women, and surely I have never seen a man look at me with greater indifference. But underneath the hardness was that hunger. Whoever learned to satisfy that—if it could be satisfied—would be Bruno's master. I recoiled from the idea; it was more likely that whoever probed that hunger would be swallowed up.

“I am your prisoner?” I asked, my voice quivering in spite of my efforts to keep it steady as he came toward me.

“In a sense, I suppose you are,” he said irritably. “I am pledged to make sure that you commit no act of treason against King Stephen, but I wish you would stop pretending to fear me.” Then he sat himself on the bed and looked deliberately toward the chest. “I seem to be in more danger from you than you are from me,” he went on, turning his eyes back to me. “I have told you already that I will do you no hurt. We are man and wife and must find a way to live together. I want to be able to sleep at night without expecting a knife in the back.”

I could feel my blood rising into my face, but I made no reply. I knew I would never be able to nerve myself to try to kill him again, but why should I give him the ease of mind of admitting that?

“I have a proposal to make to you,” he said, his face set like stone. “You know my state. I am a landless bastard, a whore's son. I desire an estate. Your condition is little better than mine, for you have been disseised. Stephen holds your lands, and you have no hope of restoration because the queen knows you are an enemy. But I am close to the king and have some influence with him. It is not impossible that, in time, Stephen can be convinced to grant your lands to me. Understand, I will make sure you cannot raise rebellion against the king, but you will be able to live in the comfort of your own home among people you know. If you will make truce with me, I will promise to do my uttermost to have Ulle and whatever other lands belong to your estate restored to us.”

I do not know how long I sat staring at him. My first impulse was to spit in his face because what he said seemed to confirm that Papa and Donald had died by his hand so he could marry the heiress to Ulle. But he had also said that he had been unwilling to take me as his wife. Which was the lie? And then I remembered that Papa had married against his will to keep Ulle. Surely he would expect no less of me. And once at Ulle, it would be easy, so easy, to avenge Papa's death. It would not even be necessary to shed any blood. Accidents were all too common in my part of the country even for those who knew the land. It would be very easy to arrange one for a man who was ignorant of the wild winds that came of a sudden down our mountains and swept men and horses off the narrow roads that hung above the deep tarns. And when my husband was dead, I would inherit his lands. Ulle would be mine again! My breath eased out and I lowered my eyes. Papa would approve of this truce. He would rest easy when Ulle was in my hands and his killer was dead.

Slowly I put out my hand. “Truce,” I whispered.

Bruno

The glitter of the night candle on the knife blade gave me an instant's warning, and I caught Melusine's wrist just as the point touched my throat. It took all my strength to lift her arm away from me and to hold it until I could sit up. I suppose I should have been angry, but instead I was filled with a crazy joy because the queen had been right. I was not married to a witless lump of flesh. This woman might be a devil—indeed, she looked it with her big, black eyes wild and her hair disheveled as she strained to free her arm and plunge the knife into me—but I could fight a devil or come to terms with it.

The sickness that had pervaded my very soul all day was gone, and I could not help laughing for joy. I do not remember what I said first; it was silly and shocked her, but it served my purpose in letting me take the knife from her without hurting her. At first she tried to pretend idiocy again and then tried to make me believe she was terrified of me, but I soon showed her I could not be deceived by such pretense.

One thing I told Melusine most sincerely was that I was sorry for my rape the night of our wedding, that it was of necessity not of my will. I do not know whether she believed that because, when I got out of bed to light candles so that we could talk, she had no doubt seen that the sight of her had half roused me. I put on a tunic then, so she would not be able to think she could judge my thoughts by the swelling of my rod—and I warned her that the desire to couple never warped my will. But I doubt she believed that either; women never do—and I must admit that with life and fire in her she was far more lovely than I first thought her, although she was still a bigger, darker mare than suited my taste.

Despite that and her dark coloring, which I never cared for in a woman, she
was
lovely, and I had to remind myself more than once that she had tried to stick a knife in me. Nor from the way her eyes met mine would it be her last attempt, and there is no way for a husband to shield himself from his wife at all times. Clearly she felt her life would be well lost if she could end mine, and if she had no fear of retribution, unless I maimed her or locked her into a dungeon, she would succeed sooner or later in killing me.

I thought then that she remembered and hated me for taking Ulle. I was the first man in, and she blamed me for the loss of her lands. That was not reasonable, of course. It was the king who had ordered the taking of the manor, and if I had not led the attack some other man would have done so. Ulle would have been reft from her in any case. I almost said that, after telling her that I wanted to be able to sleep at night without fearing a knife in the back, but I stopped myself in time, hoping she would not notice the sheen of sweat that burst out on me when I realized how serious a mistake I had nearly made.

As a flash of lightning over a battlefield will etch each detail, everything had been made clear to me. I suddenly knew why I was the man Queen Maud had decided must be Melusine's husband, the
only
suitable man. I had been chosen
because
I was the focus of Melusine's hate, because as long as she had me to hate, the queen hoped she would not turn that hate on the king. But why had the queen not simply done away with Melusine if she thought her so dangerous? Partly, I guessed, because Stephen had become fond of the girl, would not believe ill of her, and would be angry if harm came to her, and, of course, partly because Maud was not
sure
Melusine was dangerous. Had Maud hoped that if Melusine attacked me I would kill her in a rage or while defending myself? If so, she had misjudged me. Despite my liking and admiration for the queen, I knew that she was not in the least scrupulous when Stephen's good was at stake, and I would not do her dirty work for her.

And then, as swiftly as I had seen the problem, I saw the solution. If Melusine hated me because she blamed me for the loss of Ulle, could we not live in peace if I promised to do my best to get Ulle back for her? But why should I? I could not admit that my purpose was to cool her hatred for the king lest it set ideas into her head and make hatred a prize to cling to against all reason.

While all these thoughts flickered through my head, my eyes had rested on Melusine's face. The flush of color that had come into her cheeks when I said we were man and wife and must learn to live together still lingered and reminded me of another reason she might hate me. A lady born might resent being forced into marriage with a whore's landless son—and she would certainly believe that he would use that marriage as a basis to win lands of his own.

I had to phrase my proposal carefully, pointing out that she had no chance at all to regain her lands without me, and that I could only serve that purpose because I was a favorite with the king. Thus, I hoped I had made clear that Stephen and I were both necessary to her purpose and must not be targets for her spite. In fairness, I warned her that, if I were successful in getting Ulle regranted, I would not permit her to use those lands for treasonous activity—but I was not really worried about that. Women are not much interested in political matters unless they affect them directly.

I was very pleased by the length of time Melusine took to think over what I had said. Had she leapt at the offer without thought, I would have had grave doubts of her understanding and seriously accepting the proposal. But she thought for several long minutes, her eyes fixed on my face as if she hoped to pierce through and see what was written in my mind, and only slowly stretched out her hand to me, saying softly, “Truce.”

I felt she meant it, and I took her hand. “We will both benefit by peace,” I told her, “but I must remind you that to achieve this purpose will take time. I hope you do not expect me to ask tomorrow and be granted the lands the next day.”

“I am not a fool,” she said, and then blushed hotly.

I laughed, knowing she had remembered that she had deliberately been acting the fool. “You have got yourself into the stew by pretending to be an idiot,” I remarked, not sorry to rub a little salt in the wound. Perhaps she would be more careful of the lies she acted in the future, but the pretense was now as awkward for me as for her, so I went on, “Can you think of a way to climb out of the pot? I will be glad to help in any way I can, since I do not want everyone laughing at me for being married to a half-wit.”

“There are more who would envy you than laugh,” she said with a wry twist to her full lips. Her voice was deep for a woman, without the lilting quality that made Audris's speech so charming.

I thought that over because in a way she was right. Most men seemed to prefer silly women—even the king, although he had come to value his wife highly. I too valued a clever woman who could talk to me and even in certain matters advise me because Audris had been such a one, and during my early life I had no other friend or person to love, man or woman. And now that Hugh had married Audris I was again without a heart that belonged only to me.

I was glad for Hugh and Audris, but a pang of regret stabbed me and I released Melusine's hand, which I had been holding absently since we swore truce with each other. How I wished she had offered me that hand in trust and affection instead of as a thin bridge over a river of hate. But I would not despair. We had a great interest in common, and that might easily be a foundation on which trust and affection might someday be built. For the present, it was fortunate that my notion of what was best in womankind seemed to fit with hers, if I had read that scornful turn of the mouth aright.

“I am not one who cares for stupid women,” I said. “I wish to be able to approach my wife and be seen to talk with her with pleasure when the king takes his ease with the queen.”

Her eyes, which had been on the hand I had been holding and then released, rose to study my face. She looked startled and then very thoughtful and at last said slowly, “I suppose I could pretend to have been sad and fearful and thus guarded my every word so that I seemed dull. And now that the worst has befallen me I could pretend that it is not so bad as I expected so my fear could wear off slowly.”

I was not too well pleased with her remark that she could
pretend
the worst was not as bad as she expected. It seemed a poor return for all the effort I had made to soothe her, but then I reminded myself that she believed she had cause to hate me while I had none—except her unwillingness to marry me—to dislike her. Still, I said to her, rather sharply, “I hope that pretense will include civility to me in public.”

“Yes,” she replied, “of course. If you are to have any chance to retrieve my lands, I must seem reconciled to my fate.” Then she frowned and added thoughtfully, “We will need to balance carefully between seeming content with each other and waking suspicions in the queen that you are growing enamored of me. It would be better if I seemed to come to you and seek your attention.”

Clever, I thought—not as I had thought earlier when the fact that she could think at all was a blessing like a shower of gold to me—but with some caution. Melusine not only had a quick mind but also did not allow herself to be diverted from a purpose by foolish considerations of pride. It could not be easy for her to seem to pursue a whore's son, but she was willing to put the greater purpose ahead of the pinpricks she must know the queen's ladies would inflict on her. However, a clever woman sometimes thought she was the only one of her kind, and the queen would be watching.

“It would be better,” I agreed, “but remember that your pretense of stupidity did not work on the queen, and she may see through this new pretense with equal ease if you do not take care.”

She stared at me for an instant, and then uttered a strange, brief bark of laughter which seemed to startle her as much as it did me; then she shuddered. “I will take care,” she said, and lay down and pulled the blanket up over her shoulders as if fear had chilled her.

I almost reached out to touch her comfortingly, for if I had been the queen's enemy and trying to deceive her I would have been sorely afraid, but I remembered that Melusine might take such a gesture as a threat and changed the movement of my hand to pushing myself up off the bed so I could snuff the candles. Having removed my tunic and dropped it on my chest, I returned to the bed.

The effect of lying naked beside Melusine was irritating, even though I was not touching her. All the time we had been talking, my eyes had rested with indifference on her face and full breasts, bare except for the veiling of dark hair that fell over her shoulders. Now that her body and features were hidden from me, I was suddenly achingly aware of them and I felt a warmth and filling in my loins.

I could not force an unwilling woman, but I regretted that I had spoken in such terms as to preclude any attempt to make her willing—or had I? Could the same carrot that had led her—I hoped—to give up any notion of murdering me be used to induce her to agree to our coupling?

“There is one more thing I must say before we sleep,” I remarked, trying to sound completely indifferent. “I promised not to force coupling on you, and I will keep my word, but you should consider that a child would be a good reason for the king to enfeoff me with Ulle. Stephen is fond of children and I could make a good case pleading that my child not be deprived of the security of a home and lands. If you feel this is reasonable and are willing, I will do my best to make the coupling as easy for you as I can.” I could feel a very faint movement, not as if Melusine had shifted her body but as if she had stiffened, and I said quickly to forestall a flat negative, “You need not answer now. Take time to consider. I am in no hurry.”

Then her body did shift; she turned her back to me with a hasty flop that would have betokened bad temper in any of my usual bed partners. Bad temper? I reviewed my hasty and thoughtless words and grinned to myself in the dark. Who would have thought it? I would have assumed that the disinterest of a whore's son would have provided the well-born Lady Melusine with relief, but apparently great lady and common whore agreed on one thing: Neither liked to find
any
man indifferent to her.

The revelation restored my good humor, although it made it no easier to convince my standing man that he would find no soft, warm haven this night. Partly to induce him to lie down and partly because I did not really trust the truce with Melusine enough to sleep yet, I thought over what I had so hastily promised to pacify my wife. I had not lied to her; I would indeed do my best to convince the king to grant me Melusine's heritage. The only untruth was the implication that Stephen might possibly enfeoff me with those lands.

Was it really so unlikely? The more I thought about it the more I thought that what I had said only to obtain a breathing space in which to tame Melusine might be the best possible solution to a number of problems. The first of those was the strong possibility that Stephen would fail to pay the pension he had promised, which was all I had to support my wife. From what I had seen of Cumbria, the income from Melusine's estates would come to considerably less than the pension. The land was able to provide a subsistence to those who lived on it but little more than that. Yet for me, a secure subsistence based on lands of my own was far more desirable than a rich pension—even assuming it was paid with reasonable regularity.

For the king there would be a profit far greater than relief from payment of the pension or the guilt of not paying it. Although Stephen had disseised those knights and barons who had been actively disloyal during the winter invasion of England, all knew that Cumbria remained a hotbed of disaffection. It seemed to me it would add greatly to the peace and stability of the shire to enfeoff a man loyal to Stephen but married to a native Cumbrian. To disseise men and place stewards on their estates had no ring of finality. If Stephen were defeated, those lands could be returned to their original holders with no more than the stroke of a pen and the pressure of a seal. But once a new man was settled on the estate, particularly one married into the legitimate line, it would take a war to restore the property to the man who had been disseised.