Authors: Shari Anton
“Why?” Audra asked.
“If you were a frog and saw such mighty hunters bearing down on you, would you not hide?”
The girls saw the sense of it and parted the rushes. He watched them search, to no avail, until disappointment set in.
So he set them to an easier task. “Perhaps we had best settle for flowers. ’Twould be more suitable to take flowers back to camp than a frog anyway.”
Audra’s face lit up, eyeing the proliferation of wildflowers along the bank. “We could take some back for Carolyn. She loves flowers.”
“So does Mama.”
“Pick some for both ladies, then, but be quick. We lose daylight.” Odd he hadn’t noticed before. “Off you go.”
The girls hurried out of the water and up to the flowers. Stephen headed for where Marian still sat near his boots.
She watched him approach with narrowed eyes, but a smile graced her lovely mouth. “’Twas bad of you, Stephen. Hardly proper behavior.”
He sat down beside her. “Ah, Marian, every warm summer day should end with a frog hunt.”
“Pray foreswear informing the girls.”
“Whatever for? A stream runs near Wilmont, and there I
know
where the frogs hide.”
Her smile lost a bit of luster. “We will be at Wilmont by this time tomorrow, will we not?”
“With ease. Why?”
She shrugged. “Merely wondering.” Her gaze wandered over his shoulder, toward the girls. “Oh, for pity’s sake.”
Marian was on her feet before he could turn around. Then he saw Lyssa, a small snake clutched in her little hand, sneaking up on Audra.
“Lyssa, no!” Marian shouted.
Audra turned, spied the snake, screamed and took off running. Stephen laughed…until Audra ran toward the water. He shouted her name with an order to halt. She didn’t hear him through her screams.
The river wasn’t particularly wide or deep, but every body of flowing water had its deep spots and a current—dangers for a small girl.
Marian flew after Audra like an arrow shot to a target. Stephen stood up, watching the mother gain ground on her daughter. Fright drove Audra down the bank and into the concealing rushes—a place to hide.
Near panic tinged Marian’s voice, shouting Audra’s name.
Audra would be safe enough if she didn’t go too far into the rushes. But if she did and became entangled…Stephen tamped down his worry but began walking toward the river anyway.
Boots and all, Marian heedlessly entered the river, her gown quickly soaking up water. She parted the rushes, called Audra, then went farther out, her search frantic.
Lyssa shot past him. Stephen lunged and caught her by the back of her tunic. He plopped her down on her bottom.
“Sit here and do
not
move!” The order given in the
tone of a commander to troops shocked Lyssa to frozen stillness.
Satisfied she would obey for the nonce, Stephen resumed his walk toward the rushes, determined to remain calm despite his rising heartbeat. Marian had waded out to the farthest point of the rush patch, so far the water reached her knees. Too far with now heavy skirts. One misstep and she’d be in trouble.
Rushes rustled near the bank, too briskly for a small animal’s passage.
“Marian, come in! Audra is here.”
Audra stepped out of rushes. Marian spun to his shout. She took a step and fell, breaking her fall with her hand. Stephen snapped the ties of his sherte, reached behind him and grabbed hold of both tunic and sherte, and yanked them over his head.
In those few seconds of blindness, Marian disappeared.
His head screamed a denial. The girls’ screams weren’t silent. There wasn’t time to comfort them, only issue a sharp order to Audra to sit by Lyssa and stay put.
Sweet Jesu, let them obey
.
Stephen plunged into the river, spraying water, rushing headlong to where he’d last seen Marian. The water turned clear and colder, the edge of the current tugged at his breeches.
“Marian!” He listened hard, and heard nothing. “Marian!”
From downriver came the faint sound of his name. A sweeter sound he’d never heard. He rounded the rush patch—the pebble strewn bottom dropped away from under his feet. He swallowed water as he went under,
tasting of mud and gritty with sand. Blood pounded in his ears.
He kicked hard, driving upward, allowing the current to carry him toward Marian. What seemed an eternity later he broke surface, sputtering. A hard shake of his head cleared his eyes and senses. A few long strokes took him to calmer, slightly warmer, chest-high water.
“Marian!”
“Here.”
He’d shot past her. His relief at finding her was short-lived. With her head barely out of the water, Marian clung by one hand to a fragile lifeline—a snapped branch jutting far out into the river from a fallen log. Water swirled around her, the current threatening to carry her away—or pull her under.
“Hold on!” he shouted, immediately noting the senselessness of the order. Marian wouldn’t let go.
Stephen swam to the log, which moved too easily under his hand. He couldn’t trust either log or branch to hold tight, and Marian was out farther than an arm’s length away.
“Stephen?” No panic, but she was frightened.
“Can you touch bottom?”
“Nay.”
He reached out as far as he could while yet holding on to the log. “Can you reach my hand?”
She strained to bring her free arm around, but the current worked against her. The current and her gown. The damn gown acted as an anchor.
He wished he could simply swim out, grab hold of her and head for shore. Not possible. The swirl of the water and weight of her gown would pull them both under.
Stephen saw no other hope but to ease out onto the
branch and get the gown off Marian so she could maneuver. Maybe the branch would hold. Maybe the log wouldn’t break free.
“I am going to duck under here and come up behind you.”
Stephen pushed out beyond the log. The swirl hit him hard. He ducked under the branch, grabbed hold and prayed. It held.
Hand over hand, he worked his way out to Marian, halting beside her, grasping the branch just above her hand. Blood stained the bark. She must have had a higher hold, then slipped. He squelched the urge to pull her toward him, into his arms. Instead he reached for lacing on the back of her gown.
“We need to get this off you. Do you hurt anywhere?”
“Only my hand. I may have bruised my leg when I kicked off my boots.”
Wet lacing didn’t like coming undone, especially under cold, numbing fingers, but he managed to undo the knot. The water tugged at the gown as the lacing came out. He slid his hand between her gown and chemise, pushing the heavy material off her shoulder. Marian pulled her arm back, free of the sleeve.
For the other sleeve, she must let go of the branch.
He pulled her up and toward him, wrapped his arm around her midriff. “Let go and pull out of the sleeve. Let the water take the gown.”
Stephen braced for the jerk of her weight; she didn’t move.
“I have you, Marian. I will not let you go, I swear.”
Marian slowly released her hold, giving him her weight in degrees. Still, he grimaced at the strain on his
muscles. She pulled her arm from the sleeve, then pushed the heavy gown down from her hips.
The branch broke, giving them up to the merciless current.
Stephen released the branch and tightened his hold on Marian. He’d not lose her now. Not now when he’d just found her again. He flipped to his back, determined to keep Marian afloat, her face above water. Half riding the current, with thrashing legs aiding his backstroke, he headed for calmer water and shore. When sure of the bottom, he stood, turned Marian around and hugged her hard.
“Ye gods, Stephen,” she whispered, her arms tight around his neck, her chemise-wrapped body pressed along the length of his near nakedness.
He kissed the curve of her neck, so damn glad she was alive and in his arms. “Hellfire, woman, you scared me.”
“I should not have tried to get up, but I did, and stumbled farther out. Then the current caught me and—” She shook her head, her forehead grazing his shoulder. “When I got hold of the branch, I stayed put, knowing you would come for me.”
Triumph seized him, the elated aftermath of a battle hard fought and won. Had he the energy, he’d spin Marian around and shout for joy. Instead, he turned Marian’s head and sought her mouth.
The potency of the kiss shot straight to his victory-heady senses, drawing him into a whirlpool of bliss and contentment from which he didn’t wish rescue. He could drown in Marian’s sweetness and not give a damn.
Within the kiss he rediscovered his first lover, as eager for him as he for her. He could loosen his breeches and have her right here in the water. She’d not say him nay.
She’d welcome his touch, his thrusts, with all the joy of a maiden in the hay.
From far off, he heard his name called. Armand. Those in the camp must have heard the girls’ screams and investigated.
Temptation reared so hard it damn near killed him to break the kiss. “We will be found soon.”
Desire glittered in Marian’s eyes. “How soon?”
Sweet heaven, dare he? “Not too soon.”
She wrapped her legs around his waist. “Then do it, Stephen. Take me now before they find us.”
’T
was amazing to Marian how clearly she’d reviewed her life while dangling in the river from an untrustworthy branch, then vowed to God and herself to set all to rights—beginning with Stephen.
She never doubted he’d come to her rescue, not been the least surprised he found her so quickly. Later she’d tell him about the girls, confess her error in remaining silent all these years. Confess the love for him she’d always felt. After all, how could he become a loving husband and father, give up his wandering ways if she didn’t give him the chance?
For right now, she wanted to show him her desire, her burning need, to become his lover again. The rest would follow.
He yet stared at the bank, assessing how much time they had for a coupling.
“Believe me, I am tempted near beyond restraint,” he said, his voice rough, “but I will not make love to you like this.”
Odd, she’d thought it would be both easily done and rather erotic in the water. “On the bank, then. Stephen, please.”
He didn’t move. “You are overwrought and know not what you say.”
Overwrought? She knew exactly what she wanted! “I
need
you. Is that not clear enough?”
“Ah, sweetling,” he whispered, pulled her close and nuzzled in her neck.
Stephen’s hot breath warmed her cold skin. His hands skimmed along her thighs, under the chemise, and cupped her bottom. Now here was the Stephen she knew, randy and willing, anytime and anyplace. Finally, he’d unleash himself, pierce her, ease the deep ache only Stephen could ease.
With her legs wrapped around his trim waist, her breasts crushed against his sleek, powerful chest, she couldn’t help but feel his deep sigh.
“I cannot, Marian, not like this. I appreciate your gratitude, but cannot accept such a reward.”
“What?”
“We have fought a battle for survival and won. Your fear is gone, your elation at victory high. You wish to celebrate, and wish to do so with me, your rescuer.”
Marian’s ardor cooled considerably as his meaning sneaked past her passion-muddled senses. She leaned back to look at him. He was dead serious.
“Gratitude? Is that what you think?”
“’Tis a natural enough reaction, and I am highly honored.”
“I see,” she said, horrified.
Stephen thought her no better than a harlot, offering the use of her body as a reward for his good deed.
The insufferable cur.
“So what you say is, in my high state of elation, I would offer to buff the rod of any man who came to my aid.”
He frowned. “Crudely put.”
He objected to her language, not denied his belief. She nearly choked on her rising anger.
“If Armand had rescued me, would I have offered to swive him, too?”
“Now, Marian—”
“Or Edwin? There is a fine figure of a man. If Edwin had plucked me from the river—”
“Impossible. Edwin is too old. He would have a heart attack in the process.”
“Edwin is
not
old, and I tire of hearing you and Carolyn speak of him as such.” She pushed against his chest. “Let me go, with my thanks for exposing the frailties of my unstable emotions.”
“Marian—”
“Your rescue is complete. I can swim to shore myself. Release me!”
He obeyed. Before she went under she heard Armand call out again, much closer now.
There would have been enough time, damn the man.
She’d not cry. She’d not give Stephen the satisfaction of knowing how deeply she hurt. To think she nearly declared her love, made an utter fool of herself over a man who didn’t deserve or want her love any more now than six years ago.
She flipped over and kicked toward shore, surfacing not far from the bank. Armand stood near the edge, Stephen’s sherte and tunic grasped in his hand.
“Ah, my lady, ’tis glad I am to see you, too.”
Marian thought of just how much of her he was going to see. A thin, wet chemise hid nothing from view. So be it. If Stephen thought her a harlot, why not prove him right? She stood up in water that barely covered her
knees. The squire looked her over once, and turned scarlet.
Immediately contrite for her brashness, Marian turned around and directed her ire at the man who deserved it. Stephen looked, too, slower and harder, with no tinge of embarrassment.
Let him look. Let him see what he tosses aside
.
Look he did, thoroughly, missing not one inch of the near nakedness she flaunted. He took revenge on her boldness, coming toward her with his easy grace, like some ancient sea god emerging from the water to claim a nymph for his pleasure.
Sweet mercy, the man’s body yet appealed. So strong, so damn perfect in form. The rough scar across his shoulder wasn’t a flaw, nor the intriguing notch out of his left ear. They merely invited a woman’s fingers to explore, to ease any lingering pain from those wounds.
She swallowed hard. He stopped mere inches away.
“My lady, should you ever make me another such offer, when ’tis me you truly want, I vow I will not hesitate.”
“Believe me, my lord, I shall not offer again.”
He nodded slightly. “Armand, my tunic if you will. The lady is cold.”
She was, but the cold came from within, not without. Only once before had she experienced this icy emptiness, on the day she’d realized she must not tell her father about Stephen.
Armand tossed the tunic, Stephen caught it. He slipped it over her head, the hem dipping into the water. The tunic smelled of Stephen, but was warm and long enough so she could walk into camp. She could endure the aroma for that long.
Marian made for the bank, for the surety of solid earth
beneath her feet. Weariness set in. She craved a hug from her girls, a warm drink and soft pallet—the oblivion of sleep.
“How go things in camp?” Stephen asked his squire.
Armand tossed him the sherte. “All is well, my lord, now that we have found you and Lady Marian. Edwin sits with the twins. The men-at-arms search the rushes. I took one look at the middle of the river and decided to search down current.”
“What possessed you to bring my garments?”
“Pure habit, my lord. I have become accustomed to picking up after you.”
Stephen slipped into his sherte. “So why not my boots?”
“The girls are guarding them. Truth to tell, Lyssa refuses to move until you come back to release her from her seat.”
“She stayed put then.”
“’Twas her screams we heard in camp that brought us down to the river. Her voice was so hoarse Audra had to tell us what happened.”
Armand’s revelation shook Marian wide-awake again. “Lyssa’s screams brought you to the river?”
“Aye, my lady. Powerful set of lungs on one so little.”
Horrified, she turned on Stephen. “You left them alone? You did not fetch someone to watch over them first?”
He crossed his arms across his now sherte-covered chest. “Fetch someone? I ordered the girls to sit and stay and then plunged into the water after you. There wasn’t time!”
“They must have been frantic! No telling what they might have done!”
“They did as I ordered.”
“You should not have left them alone!” Marian headed upriver, heedless of anything but to get back to her daughters.
“Marian, have a care!” Stephen shouted.
She spun, her eyes narrowed. “Oh, have no fear. I wish to get back in one piece, so I might properly show Edwin my
gratitude
for caring for my daughters!”
She did have a care, however, more because tramping barefoot though the woods proved hard on the feet. All the while she could hear Stephen and Armand behind her, and after a short while heard the shouts of men-at-arms before her.
Torches lit up the small clearing. Edwin stood over the girls who sat on the bank, well away from the water. Soon she sat on the ground, Audra and Lyssa safe in her embrace, listening to tearful apologies. Marian shushed and reassured them, unable to summon a word of reprimand.
She felt more than saw Stephen come up behind her. The girls quieted, then slowly stood up, their tear-streaked faces tilted upward.
“You have begged your mother’s pardon?” he asked gently.
Their “Aye, my lord” came out hoarse and disjointed.
He knelt down and opened his arms. “Come here, then.”
The girls obeyed with such swiftness they rocked him back. He closed his eyes and held them fast against him. Raven-black braids hung down their backs, soaking up droplets from their father’s like-colored wet hair.
Marian bit back tears, knowing how comforting and reassuring Stephen’s embrace could be to one scared
nearly witless. Hadn’t she availed herself of the comfort before…before…
He kissed both little foreheads. “I beg your pardon, too, for leaving you alone. I know how frightened you must have been, but I am told you obeyed my order even when you might have moved. That took courage, and I am very proud of you both.” Stephen met Marian’s gaze. “Just as I am proud of your mother for her steadfast courage. You taught them well, Marian.”
The girls learned easily and remembered their lessons. ’Twas their mother who kept forgetting lessons hard learned, needing reminders at least every six years.
As she had yesterday, Marian sat next to the driver of the lead supply wagon. The man was more talkative today. She gratefully listened, wishing she had something to do with her hands, too. Something, anything, to concentrate on to wipe her mind free of last eve.
While hanging out on the branch, afraid she might die—which she could admit today—she’d wanted so much to relive the past six years. She’d envisioned Stephen as the man she wanted him to be—her madly-in-love-with-her, hearth-and-home-content husband. They might have lived in a lovely manor with the twins and perhaps a couple of more children after. Her parents would visit and be proud of their daughter.
Lovely, impossible dream.
With the sunrise had come reality, embarrassment and the simple thankfulness of being alive.
She’d already thanked God and every soul in heaven she could think of. She had yet to talk to Stephen, unable to find the words both to thank him and apologize for her truly wanton behavior. Poor Armand couldn’t look at her without going scarlet.
She’d been sore tempted to ask one of the wagon drivers to take her home to Branwick. Impossible, of course. Reality was, they were nearing Wilmont and all Marian wanted to do was crawl into the back of the wagon, pull a blanket over her head and become part of the baggage. Reality was, she couldn’t.
Reality, too, was that she could also no longer deny her love for Stephen. Of all the thoughts she’d had, which could be attributed to either terror or false hopes, the realization that her love for Stephen had never died remained in her heart and refused to be dislodged.
She should probably thank him for having the sense to turn down her offer. If they’d made love last eve, she might have made demands he couldn’t agree to, and she’d be in complete agony today instead of merely suffering.
The wagon driver snapped the reins, urging the oxen up a hill. “You all watch now as we go over. Best view of the castle comin’ up.”
Wilmont was the largest fortress Marian had ever seen. A huge keep sat on a large center mound, surrounded by two thick curtain walls, lofty towers guarded the corners and either side of the gate. A wide moat separated the fortress from the vast clearing around it—a defensive measure, Marian knew, so those within could readily see attackers from without.
At the moment, the clearing was dotted with colorful tents.
The wagon driver chuckled. “Seems the baron saw fit to invite half of England.”
“I like the green one!” Audra proclaimed. “’Tis huge!”
“Should be. Belongs to the earl of Warwick.”
Marian thought he must be mistaken. “The earl of Warwick brings a tent to Wilmont?”
“Aye. Most visitors do, unless they like sleepin’ on a pallet in the hall. The baron, he likes his privacy. Not too many people allowed up the stairs at Wilmont, ’cept family and the personal servants. ’Course, if the king sees fit to come, then his lordship might give way. Maybe.”
Audra poked her head between her mother and the driver. “Will our tent be set up down there, next to the green one?”
The driver smiled at her. “Like that green one, do you? Might be a spot down there yet. We got orders to drop you off at the keep, then go down to set up the tent. I will look for a level spot by the green one.”
“Who does the blue one belong to?”
For the next little while, the driver pointed out tents and named their owners. Earls. Barons. England’s high nobility. She may be of noble blood, but these people were far above her in rank—and Edwin of Tinfield’s and Carolyn de Grasse’s.
And Hugo de Lacy’s, her father, who would have been invited to these festivities if his daughter had married Stephen of Wilmont. How he would love to rub with earls and barons, possibly obtain some position at court for her older brother through their good offices. She’d denied him a rise in rank.
A pang of longing for her mother and sisters hit hard and nearly drew forth tears. Would she even recognize her younger sisters? They would be all grown-up now. Marian swallowed the lump in her throat, knowing the near death experience of last eve brought all this on. Still, ’twas hard to shake off.
“You all hold on, now,” the driver said. “Gets a bit bumpy here for a bit till we get beyond the gate.”
Marian faced forward as the wagon driver snapped the reins to urge the oxen over the drawbridge. With Stephen in the lead, Carolyn beside him, the company soon traversed the bailey and the inner yard to pull up at the stairway to the stone keep. A small army of servants surrounded the company, their general a brusk, gray-haired man who Marian assumed must be Wilmont’s steward.
“Hail, Walter,” Stephen called out. “The lead wagon carries my possessions. The others belong to Lady Carolyn. Have someone find a level piece of ground for her tent.”
“At once, my lord. Lady Ardith awaits you in the hall.”
“Gerard?”
“Not yet returned from hunting.”
Stephen dismounted, then reached up to help Carolyn down, grasping her about the waist—a mannerly yet personal gesture performed toward the woman he intended to marry.