Mystique (33 page)

“Alice, on the last occasion when we were in these caves you told me that the reason you had never before made love was that you had never before met a man who appealed to you.”

“‘Twas the truth.”
Not quite all of the truth. The real truth is that I had never before met a man whom I could love
, she added silently. “What of it?”

He did not answer. Instead he pulled her close, anchored her tousled head with one big hand, and kissed her.

The dark passion in his embrace was very close to the surface. Alice shivered beneath its onslaught.

Always she had been aware of the depths of his control when he held her in his arms. But today she sensed that he was fighting the steel bonds that he had imposed on himself. She wondered what awesome force had brought him to the edge of his own limits of control.

She tasted the residue of his anger and frustration in his kiss. His mouth moved on hers, relentless in its demands. She thought that she could actually hear the storm winds that howled across his soul.

But he would not, could not hurt her, Alice realized suddenly. A wondrous joy leaped within her. Her arms stole softly around his neck.

Hugh raised his head just as she moaned and parted her lips for him. He gazed broodingly at her mouth. “‘Tis time we returned to the keep. There is much to be done before we are wed tomorrow.”

Alice stifled a groan. She drew a deep breath and tried to steady herself. “My lord, mayhap we should wait a while longer before we take our vows.”

“Nay, madam.” His voice hardened. “‘Tis too late.”

“If this is only a matter of knightly honor for you, my lord, rest assured, I will not—”

“Only
a matter of honor?” His amber eyes were suddenly fierce. “My honor is everything to me, madam.
Everything
. Do you comprehend that? All that I am flows from it.”

“Sir, I did not mean to imply that I thought your honor unimportant. On the contrary, I have always been most impressed—?” Alice broke off as she caught sight of an object out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head
to peer into the shadowed depths of the far end of the cavern.

Hugh frowned. “What is it?”

“By the Saints,” Alice breathed. “Does that look like a sandal?”

Hugh glanced toward the opening. His eyes narrowed. “Aye, it does.” He released Alice and strode toward the dark passage. “If that damned monk is still hanging about these parts, I vow, I shall personally throw him off Scar-cliffe lands.”

“But why would he wish to stay here if he could no longer preach?” Alice asked as she followed Hugh.

“An excellent question.” Hugh came to a halt near the yawning tunnel. He paused and then crouched down as though to get a better look at the sandal.

“What is it?” Alice hurried toward him and looked over his broad shoulder. A deep unease filled her. The air emanating from the passageway suddenly seemed very cold.
“Eyes of the Saints.”

The sandal was still attached to Calvert’s foot. The monk lay ominously still on the stone floor of the cave. His brown robes were tumbled about his scrawny frame as though they were so much dirty linen.

In the deep shadows it was possible to see that Calvert’s body was oddly contorted. He looked as though he had been in great pain for a time but it was very clear that he was far beyond feeling anything at all now.

“He’s dead,” Hugh said quietly.

“Aye. Poor man.” Alice crossed herself. “I could not like him but I am sorry that he died here alone. What do you think happened to him?”

“I don’t know. Mayhap he fell and hit his head against a sharp stone.” Hugh clamped a hand around the monk’s ankle.

“What are you doing?”

“I want to get a closer look at him. There is something strange about this.” Hugh dragged the monk’s body out of the passage.

Alice backed hurriedly out of the way. Then she saw the odd blue color around Calvert’s mouth. A shiver of dread gripped her.

She recalled something her mother had written about potions made from the juice of a rare herb. She glanced at Calvert’s fingernails. His hands had stiffened into clawlike shapes but she could make out the blue tinge beneath his nails.

“My lord?”

“Aye?” Hugh asked absently. He was concentrating on the task of stretching the monk’s body out in the light of the cavern entrance. When he had finished, he stood and gazed down at Calvert with a speculative expression.

“I do not believe that the monk died from a fall,” Alice whispered.

Hugh gave her a sharp, assessing look. “What are you saying?”

“I believe that this is the work of poison.”

Hugh studied her for a long moment. “You are certain?”

Alice nodded bleakly. “My mother’s book contains several pages of notes on the subject.”

“In that case,” Hugh said very evenly, “you will say nothing concerning the manner of his death. Do you comprehend me, Alice?”

“Aye.” She was bemused by the intensity of his voice. “But I do not understand. Why is it so important that I keep silent?”

“Because the entire village witnessed your anger toward him in church.” Hugh went down on one knee beside the monk’s body. “And because everyone knows that you are expert with herbal potions.”

Alice went cold to the bone. Nausea assailed her. She swallowed rapidly, trying to control the churning in her stomach. “Dear God. People may believe that I had a motive to murder poor Calvert and that I know enough of poisons to do so.”

“I will not have my wife touched by such gossip if it can be avoided.” Hugh unfastened and removed the leather pouch that was suspended from Calvert’s belt. “This land has seen enough of legends and curses. I do not want new ones added to the old.”

Alice was dazed. She barely registered Hugh’s actions. Her legs were unsteady. She flattened her hand against the
wall of the cave to brace herself. “And if such gossip cannot be avoided?”

Hugh shrugged as he got to his feet, Calvert’s pouch in one hand. “Then I shall deal with it.”

“Of course.” Alice hugged herself against the chill that enveloped her. “It would seem that I am destined to cause you endless inconvenience, my lord.”

“Aye, but there will no doubt be compensations.” He opened the leather pouch and studied the contents. “Interesting.”

His expression finally penetrated Alice’s anxious mood. Her own natural curiosity reasserted itself. “What is it?”

Hugh drew out a sheet of rolled parchment. He unfurled it carefully. “A map.”

She took a step toward him. “Of what?”

Hugh studied the drawing for a moment. When he looked up at last, his golden eyes gleamed. “I believe this may be a drawing of the passages of the caves of Scarcliffe. Or at least of those passages that Calvert had time to explore.”

Alice hurried to where Hugh stood. She gazed down at the lines on the map. “Look, my lord, he marked several of the tunnels. See, here, he has indicated that these two passages are empty.” She glanced at Hugh. “Empty of what, do you suppose?”

“I do not believe that our monk spent all of his time praying in these caverns. It appears that he was searching for something. There is only one treasure that would lure a man into these caves.”

“The stones of Scarcliffe,” Alice whispered, amazed.

“Aye. Mayhap he was murdered for them.”

“Y
ou sent for me, sir?” Julian paused in the doorway of Hugh’s study chamber.

“Aye.” Hugh put aside his journal of accounts. “Enter, Julian. I wish to speak with you.”

“I trust you are not going to send me off to London with a message before the marriage feast this afternoon.” Julian sauntered into the chamber and stood before
Hugh’s desk. “I have been looking forward to the banquet. The food has greatly improved around here in recent days. Have you noticed?”

Hugh narrowed his eyes. “I have noticed. But I did not send for you in order to discuss the well-spiced dishes that now grace my table.”

“Of course not.” Julian smiled blandly. “I trust that you know who to thank for the excellent meals we all enjoy.”

“Nor do I need any more pointed observations on the well-organized manner in which this household is now functioning. I have had a surfeit of such comments. I am well aware that the improvements are the result of my betrothed’s skills in the business of household management.”

“Naturally,” Julian murmured. “Then how may I serve you, my lord?”

Hugh drummed his fingers on the desk. “You have a certain facility with graceful compliments and flowery words, do you not, Julian?”

Julian affected an air of modesty. “I do dabble a bit in poetry and I have written several songs, sir.”

“Excellent. I need a list of compliments.”

Julian looked baffled. “A list?”

“Three or four should do nicely.”

Julian cleared his throat. “Uh, what sort of compliments do you prefer, my lord? Would you like me to concentrate on your skills with a sword or your triumphs in battle? I can do a nice line or two about your loyalty and honor.”

Hugh stared at him. “What in the name of the devil are you talking about?”

“You said you wanted compliments, my lord.”

“Not for myself,” Hugh snapped. “For my betrothed.”

Laughter appeared in Julian’s eyes. “Ah. I see.”

Hugh clasped his hands on the desk and frowned in concentration. “I am skilled at many things, messenger, but not at inventing the sort of compliments that please ladies. I wish you to draw up a list of pretty phrases that I
may memorize and speak to my bride. Do you comprehend me?”

“Aye, my lord.” Julian smiled complacently. “And may I say, sir, that, as always, you have employed the most skilled artisan for the task. I promise that you will not be disappointed.”

T
he following night Alice paced the carpet of Hugh’s large bedchamber and tried to still the fluttery sensation in her belly. She had never felt more unsettled in her life than she was at this moment. She and Hugh were no longer partners in a bargain, they were husband and wife.

She stalked past the fire and paused once more at the door, listening for the sound of footsteps in the hall. She had dismissed her women almost an hour ago. Hugh should have come to her by now.

She wondered if he was deliberately making her wait, thinking to arouse her passions to a fever pitch. If that was his purpose, she thought, he was due for a surprise.

She was not growing more lovesick by the moment. She was becoming quite irritated.

She had had enough of Hugh’s clever stratagems, she thought resentfully. It had been a very long day.

It had begun with the burial of Calvert of Oxwick. He had been laid to rest in the small graveyard behind the village church. Alice, Benedict, Hugh, and Joan had been the only ones present. The priest, Geoffrey, who had accompanied Hugh and Benedict to Scarcliffe, said the prayers for the dead over the grave. No one had shed any tears.

A few hours later, shortly before noon, Geoffrey had conducted the wedding service in front of the church door.

The endless festivities and an elaborate banquet had followed. Alice was so exhausted from smiling and being gracious to everyone that she had thought to fall asleep the instant she got anywhere near a bed.

But the moment she had been left alone in the bedchamber to await Hugh a deep uncertainty had driven out her exhaustion. She stopped pacing and went to sit on a
stool in front of the fire. She gazed into the flames and tried to envision her future.

It appeared shrouded in a fog that was not unlike the mist that clung to Scarcliffe that day. There was only one clear certainty.

She was Hugh’s wife
.

A small shiver went through her. Alice drew the folds of her night robe more closely around her. All her plans for the future had been irrevocably altered. There was no going back, no changing her mind. She was committed.

The door opened without warning behind her.

She turned her head quickly as Hugh entered the chamber. “Welcome, my lord.”

She was relieved to note that he was alone. Apparently Hugh had decided to eschew the custom of a boisterous escort to the bridal bed.

“Good evening … wife.” Hugh lingered over the last word, as though he found it of great interest.

His black leather boots made no sound on the carpet as he came toward her. He was truly a creature of the night, a dark sorcerer who absorbed the firelight and gave off shadows.

He wore one of the new black tunics embroidered with amber thread that Alice had had made for him. His black hair was brushed straight back from his high forehead. His eyes were brooding in the firelight.

Alice jumped to her feet. She glanced at the table where two cups and a flagon had been set out. “Would you care for some wine?”

“Aye. Thank you.” Hugh stopped in front of the fire. He held out his hands to the blaze and watched Alice as she poured the wine. He cleared his throat.

“Have I ever told you that your hair is the color of a brilliant sunset in that moment before it is enveloped by the night?” Hugh asked quite casually.

The flagon trembled in Alice’s hand. She felt the blush rise in her cheeks. “Nay, my lord. You never mentioned it.”

“‘Tis true.”

“Thank you, my lord.”

Hugh’s brows rose as the wine splashed into a cup. “You are anxious.”

“Is that so very strange under the circumstances, sir?”

He shrugged. “Mayhap not for most women, but you are not like most women, Alice.”

“And you are not like most men, sir.” She turned to him with the cup in her hand.

His fingers brushed lightly against hers as he took the wine. “In what way am I different from other men?”

This was not the sort of conversation she had planned to have on her wedding night, Alice thought. She wondered if he expected a serious answer to his question or if he was engaged in some new stratagem designed to disconcert her.

“You are more intelligent than the other men I have known,” she said cautiously. “Deeper. More difficult to comprehend at times and yet, at other times, much clearer.”

“Is that why you married me?” Hugh met her eyes over the rim of the wine cup. “Because I am more clever than other men? More interesting? Do I intrigue your curiosity? Arouse your questioning nature? Do you regard me as an unusual object, one worthy of adding to your collection, mayhap?”