Malia Martin (6 page)

He took her hand in his, lifting it between their bodies. Aleene could do nothing but watch as her husband placed the weed in her palm and closed her fingers around it. She stared at the small flower for a long moment, then looked at Cyne.

He nodded at the flower and lifted her hand toward her face. Cyne bent over the yellow petals and sniffed, his hair tickling her own nose as he straightened. With wide eyes, he tilted his head at her. The fear, the calculations, the thoughts had fled, and in their stead was nothing but the full impact this man had on her senses. His hands cupping hers, his eyes holding hers, his breath intermingling with hers. The sun beat warmly through her veil, pollen motes danced around them and bees buzzed industriously, but she heard a supreme silence, saw only her husband, and felt the strength of his presence.

He cocked his head to the side and, again, lifted her hand toward her face, bringing the plant near her nose. She blinked, her heart feeling as if it would break, and sniffed. The small yellow weed smelled of earth, musk, and life.

She looked back at her husband. He nodded and smiled. Aleene had the sudden, yearning need to place her lips on his, feel their softness, their strength, take some of his beauty and innocence into herself.

With a long, strong intake of air, she smelled him, the earth, the sun. Closing her eyes, Aleene remembered her thoughts of only moments before, of her own dark and ugly soul and all that was familiar to her. With a wrenching cry, she crushed the flower in her hands, threw it to the ground, and turned, running from the garden and Cyne.

W
hat she had believed would be easy had suddenly become a Herculean task. Aleene wiped at the bead of perspiration that slipped from beneath her veil and trailed down her temple. The sun beat mercilessly down on her bent head, making her wish she could wrench the veil off. But she never went bareheaded. She always acted the perfect lady, wearing her veil, spending her morning at prayers, anything to gain the respect of her people. Only it had never worked.

Bending to her task once again, Aleene attacked the weeds that had grown up around her herb garden. As she worked she kept seeing Cyne, his smile bright as he cupped his hands around hers and made her see a weed as a beautiful thing to be cherished. Shaking her head, Aleene tried to shatter the image. But it haunted her.

For days it had haunted her.

And she had thought it would be easy now to get what she wanted. Now that she had married someone who should not have mattered. Someone
she
could control rather than the other way around.

Disgusted, Aleene yanked one of the weeds, breaking the stem and leaving the roots in the soil. She sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead with the back of her hand. She had not seen her husband in three days. Berthilde took care of him, feeding him, finding a place for him to sleep. Aleene hid from him.

A fine way to get a babe in her belly.

Pushing herself up from the ground, Aleene sighed deeply. Why could she not be strong? She tried, with all of her heart she tried. She showed a strong, unbending front to everyone, and yet, always, she quailed within. Afraid of her servants, her stepbrother, herself, and now her husband.

Closing her eyes, Aleene clenched her fists at her side and wished desperately to know complete strength.

“Aleene, I have found you, finally.”

Aleene straightened her spine and gritted her teeth. She turned. “Aethregard.” She had not forced the issue of Aethregard leaving the castle. He and his men would leave soon; the Fyrd would no longer be needed along the coast with the summer waning and with it, the threat of William’s invasion. She was afraid to try and force Aethregard to leave. She was not entirely sure she could, and then she would truly look the fool.

Her stepbrother smiled. Actually, it was more of a grimace from what she could see through his dirty beard. “I need to apologize, Aleene, for my temper of the other morning.”

Aleene nodded slightly, her fear abating a bit. As his father before him, Aethregard had many different ways of coercion. It seemed he had decided to take a new tack, he was back to trying to woo her. It was irritating, but much more manageable than his anger.

“It is good of you to offer an apology.”

“Yes.” He moved closer, his hand reaching toward her as if he might touch her. “But really, Aleene—”

“No!” Aleene interrupted what she was sure to be a pretty speech and backed away from her stepbrother. “No, Aethregard. You have apologized, and I accepted. Please, I am very busy and wish to be left alone.”

Aethregard hesitated. “Aleene,” he said finally. “I have noticed the abhorrence you show to your husband.” He moved forward and took her hands in both of his. “I can only believe that you have realized what a grave mistake you have made.”

Aleene stared down at her hands in his for a moment, noting with satisfaction that he had unwittingly muddied his hands with the dirt that clung to her fingers. Then, realizing that she had let him hold her for a moment too long, she quickly pulled her hands away. Meeting his gaze, she said, “I have made no mistake, Aethregard. But you do, if you believe Seabreeze shall ever be yours.”

She could see the power it took her stepbrother to maintain his calm. “Aleene, why do you fight me so? I wish to wed you, not a castle. And I shall keep you forever from harm.”

The honeyed words stank with rot. Aleene eyed Aethregard, saw the underlying hardness in his gray eyes, and knew without a doubt that he was no different from his father. Suddenly Aleene realized that her mother must have been courted in this same way. Constant, never-ending battering of her defenses with sticky-sweet words. But her mother had not seen the menace lurking beneath Tosig’s words of love. She had been weak and still mourning her only true love, and had given in.

Aleene would not give in. “I shall keep myself from harm, thank you, Aethregard.” Wiping her hands on her apron, Aleene stiffened her back and looked down upon her smaller stepbrother. “Please do not speak of this again. I am married to another man and will remain so. This is in no way appropriate.” She coated her words with the frosty tone she had perfected over the years. “I am truly very busy, as I am sure you must be. Excuse
me.” She turned quickly and left the garden. Though she wished to run, she kept her pace unhurried, her head up and shoulders back.

Never would she fall prey to the power of a man again.

With that thought ringing in her ears, Aleene went in search of Berthilde. The luxury of hiding could no longer be hers. She must find her new husband and face her fears head on.

Aleene took supper in the main hall for the first time in three days. The first sight she had of her husband made her stumble a bit. He was uncommonly beautiful, this man of simple mind.

Taking a deep breath, Aleene sat beside him at the table, keeping her face averted. She reached to tear their trencher in half, but he was there first. Their fingers brushed, and Aleene pulled hers away quickly, lightning tremors pulsing up her arm. She swallowed and watched his hands, large and disturbingly capable, put her half in front of her.

Aethregard sat across from them, watching. Aleene forced herself to look at him. “Good eve, Aethregard.” She picked up her cup, turning it deliberately so that her lips did not touch where her husband’s had.

“Milady.” He mocked her, she knew. She could hear it in his voice, though he bathed his words in false respect.

She wished this awful summer would be done with, that Aethregard would take his men and retreat to his own hall, forever. Looking away from Aethregard, her attention snagged on her husband’s hands.

He began to tear his trencher, and without thought, Aleene put her hand over his. It had been three days since she had touched him. She wasn’t ready for the reaction she had to him. The strength and warmth of him, her husband, shook her to her very core. She pulled her hand back, and her gaze snapped up to meet his.

He stared at her, his eyes full of confusion.

“No, Cyne,” she said softly. “We save the trencher for the poor.”

“Until a few days ago that is probably what he was.”

Her stepbrother only spoke the truth, but his derision grated against her. “I will warn you only once, Aethregard, not to speak so.”

He shook his head, as if speaking to a child. “Really, Aleene—”

“Only once, Aethregard.”

He stopped. She knew he wished to say more, she could actually feel the hatred emanating from him. He stayed his tongue, though, taking a long draught of ale.

Aleene watched him, suspicious of his obedience. He was waiting, it seemed, biding his time. She tapped her fingernail against the cup in her hand. He had plans that he seemed to set much confidence in. Her hand shook and she pulled it away from searching eyes, hiding it in her lap. She lowered her gaze, trying desperately to cover the fear she knew emanated from her eyes.

When, again, she knew her face showed nothing of what went on in her head, she glanced up. Her husband stared at her, his eyes intent. It shocked her for a moment, for the understanding that gleamed there made him terrifyingly magnetic.

His blond brows knit, then, above his eyes, confusion dulled his expression. But a hint of something else had been there and it jangled Aleene’s nerves. Could there be more to her husband than what he presented? The thought brought a shattering sense of chaos.

She watched him, warily, for the rest of the evening. He ate slowly, chewing with
deliberate motions, the wide grin never leaving his face. By the time Aethregard finally rose and took his leave, Aleene was sure she had imagined that small moment in time. With the impending horror of the night, and the strange effect her new husband had on her, her imagination must have taken a flight of fancy.

Obviously finished with his meal, Cyne also stood and made as if to leave. Aleene quickly stood and spoke, not daring to touch him again until it was necessary. “No, Cyne, you will come with me this eve.”

The man stopped and stared at her.

“Come, Cyne,” she said and turned toward the door that would take her to her room. She knew as she walked that Cyne had not followed. With a deep, steadying breath she stopped and called again, “Cyne, come with me.

She heard his shuffling gate stir the rushes and so she continued on her way. She turned only when she reached the door to her chamber. Cyne had followed behind her, but not closely. It seemed even he balked at what must be done that night. Aleene shook her head as Cyne passed by her into the room. No, he could not really know or understand. He probably had just enjoyed sleeping with the rest of the men in the hall.

A wry smile tugged at her lips as Aleene closed the door and stood for a moment staring at the rough-planked wood. Her husband would rather spend the night with his head resting on the belly of a hound, his back against a hard floor, than be with her. It was funny, really. Still, the smile did not reach her heart. Only a hollow loneliness sat there. She knew it had been there a very long time, but now, for some awful reason, the loneliness seemed incredibly more devastating.

Pushing the feeling away, Aleene turned on her heel. She walked boldly up to Cyne, gathered his hand in hers, and placed it against her breast. Somewhere deep inside of her the child she had once been screamed to yank away from Cyne’s hand and run, but the lady of Seabreeze Castle stayed utterly still.

“We must make a babe, my lord.” Her voice seemed breathy, and she had meant to sound commanding. She cleared her throat before continuing. “You must touch my breast, become hard and go inside me.”

Cyne choked, then coughed, then seemed to do both at once.

Aleene quickly let go of his hand and patted his back. “Are you all right? Did you still have food in your mouth?” Her husband coughed again, staggering backward and sitting down hard on the bed.

Aleene went to sit near him, putting her palm against his forehead. She sighed in relief when she realized he did not burn with fever. Running her fingers through his hair, she tried to soothe her husband. “It’s all right, Cyne. Can you understand me, perhaps? Can you understand a bit?” She smoothed his hair again, liking the silky feel against her fingers.

Cyne’s coughing lightened and he finally stopped, looking at her from beneath his brows, his expression that of a whipped kitten.

It tore at the coverings around her heart and again, as she had that first night, she felt a connection with this man. Biting the inside of her bottom lip, she reached out and took his hand in hers. It was only when their fingers touched that she realized what she had done. She nearly snatched her hand away, but then took a deep breath and did not break their hold. “Are you afraid, Cyne?”

Her husband dipped his head to his chest, and shame swept through her. She had been so
completely self-centered in her quest for freedom, she had not realized the confusion and turmoil she had forced on another human being. Gripping her husband’s hand tighter, she brought it to her lips.

“Cyne,” she said against his large, weather-beaten hand. “I have been terribly selfish, haven’t I?”