Samantha James (24 page)

It was early evening when Alana woke again. The last fading rays of sunlight trickled into the chamber. The wail of an infant came from the
corner, and Alana turned toward the sound eagerly. Genevieve was there already, plucking the infant from his cradle. With deft, sure hands she changed his swaddling. Alana looked on, carefully counting fingers and toes from afar. The babe’s cries had lessened, but when he was lifted high in Genevieve’s arms, he began to fuss and squirm once more.

“An impatient mother,” Genevieve teased as she approached. “And an impatient young lord.” She lowered the bundle down into Alana’s waiting arms. “There, now, lamb, now you shall both have what you want.”

Holding her son for the first time, Alana flashed a beaming smile, abrim with joy. With Genevieve’s assistance, her gown was eased from her shoulder to offer her breast. The babe clamped down hard on her nipple with a ferocity that rounded his mother’s eyes, but then she smiled.

With the tip of her finger, she traced the arch of splendidly shaped brows, then pressed her lips to the fine dark fuzz that covered his head. Her eyes grew soft and she was filled with an incredible gladness.

Her son had been born to the lord Brynwald as she had not been, yet naught could have pleased her more. Indeed, she could not bear to think this innocent babe might face the same hardship and struggle she had endured. He would someday take his place as the lord of Brynwald. He would be tall and strong and just, like his grandsire—and aye! his father. Norman and Saxon alike would come to revere and respect him…

She was roused from her musings by the sound of a deep, male voice—Merrick. She spied him there in the doorway but he did not remain there, as she thought he might. Instead he ventured within and perched beside her. Alana flushed a vibrant shade of rose. The ivory fullness of her breast lay plump and naked and exposed, for in truth she’d not expected to be disturbed. Only then did she realize that Genevieve had quietly withdrawn, leaving the new family alone.

She was all at once struck by the notion that something was different. His manner was easier. No longer did he appear the cold, ruthless warrior who had seized her in the forest. Indeed, there was something almost tender in the eyes that roved her upturned features, something that made her pulse pound and her heart beat a rapid tattoo.

His gaze upon her lips, he murmured, “I would thank you for my son, Saxon.”

Wide eyes searched his face. Alana bit her lip. “You are…pleased with him?” she whispered, her voice but a breath.

Something flashed in the back of his eyes, something that made her pulse run wild. His hand slid beneath the thick curtain of her hair, warmly cupping her nape. His head lowered. His mouth touched hers, gentle and infinitely sweet, yet the heat of his kiss went through her like a brand. Alana’s free hand came up to twist in the front of his tunic, so that their hearts pressed together as one…

A loud squalling startled them both. They
drew apart sharply, then laughed shakily when they saw that the babe had lost that which he coveted so highly! Though Alana was still shy and uncertain about Merrick seeing her thus bared, she did not want him to leave. She switched the babe to the other breast as Genevieve had instructed her; he latched on with avid hunger.

Her attention focused on her son, Alana stroked one tiny cheek. “Aubrey told me I carried a boy,” she murmured.

She felt rather than saw Merrick’s surprise. “You did not tell me Aubrey was one such as you—”

“He was not,” she said quickly. “Yet he was so certain I could not believe he was wrong. Indeed, I—I felt that he was right.”

“That he was,” Merrick observed with a faint smile. “And now, sweet, I would remind you we must choose a name for this young one.” His gaze held hers. “I thought mayhap…Geoffrey.”

Now it was he who hesitantly questioned.

Alana smiled, a smile of such blinding sweetness he was robbed of breath. “Geoffrey it shall be.”

But alas, it was over far too soon. The newly christened Geoffrey had fallen asleep at her breast. Merrick eased the babe from her and gently placed him in his cradle. Returning to the bedside, he frowned when he glimpsed the cloudiness in her gaze.

“What is it, sweet? Are you unwell?”

“I am fine,” she answered, her voice half-
strangled. “But I cannot help but think of Father Edgar. Merrick, I must know…how did he die?”

Merrick imprisoned her hand tightly within his. For a time it seemed he would not answer. Then he said quietly, “A dagger through the heart.”

She stared down at the frailty of her hand nestled so trustingly within his. An elusive hurt twisted her insides. She was now the lady of Brynwald. But in truth, nothing had changed.

“How can they think I would do such a thing?” Her voice was half-choked. “Never have I harmed a soul in my life—never!”

She trembled against him. With a muffled exclamation, he turned to her. “Alana, you must not worry!”

She ducked her head against his shoulder. “I fear I cannot help it. Merrick, I—I am frightened! Why would anyone do such—such terrible things! And to slay a priest…”

Powerful arms wrapped her tight and close. “I will let nothing happen to you—nor to Geoffrey,” he vowed. He held her until her shaking subsided, until she, too, had fallen asleep in his embrace.

But his mind was as troubled as Alana’s. He thought of the bloodied animal carcasses lying limp and mutilated on the ground. What twisted mind had conceived of such torture? What hand could willingly perform such deeds?

An eerie chill ran the length of his spine. For indeed, he reflected grimly, the veriest question was not simply why…

But who.

W
hile the fields reaped the summer’s bounty, Alana discovered the joys of becoming a mother, for indeed, the birth of a babe was a thing of beauty and wonder. From the instant she first held her son in her arms, she was seized by a thrill unlike any other. Indeed, she did not mind that the babe woke often for his feedings. She could imagine naught more precious than cradling her son close and watching him nurse, his tiny fist curled against the swell of her breast.

The days turned, one into the next. Soon a month had passed since Geoffrey’s birth. While Alana regained her strength and slimness, the babe grew strong and lusty, his cheeks and belly round and plump.

Merrick was no less proud of his son. In some faraway corner of her being, a part of her had secretly feared Merrick would exhibit little interest in their son. But it was oft Merrick who brought Geoffrey to their bed in the dark of the night, and returned him to his cradle. Her throat tightened at the sight of such strength
displaying such gentleness, his hands so big and Geoffrey so small.

Genevieve, too, was a doting aunt, as smitten with the babe as were both his parents. Geoffrey had only to let out the slightest wail than he was almost instantly snatched high in someone’s arms.

Yet Alana could hardly deny the tension that lingered within the walls of the keep. Merrick had ordered more guards to keep watch in the night, but still the people of Brynwald appraised her with wary eyes…and each other as well. For the identity of Father Edgar’s murderer remained a secret.

To all but the murderer.

So it was that a shroud of uncertainty hung over Brynwald, an ominous shadow of all things past…

And all yet to come.

Soon the weather turned gray and threatening as well, chill and wet and blustery. The seas churned wildly, crashing high upon the rocky shore. Storm clouds gathered dark and forbidding across the sky, unleashing on the world below a torrent of rain and wind.

It was on just such a day that the muffled sound of weeping reached Alana’s ears. She had just nursed Geoffrey and was in the midst of soothing him to sleep. A hasty glance revealed a frothy bubble of milk at his lips, his lashes a dark crescent on his cheeks. Dropping a light kiss on his scalp, she laid him in his cradle and tiptoed across the floor.

In the passageway, she tipped her head first
one way and then the other. The sound came again, from the direction of Genevieve’s chamber. With a frown she hurried forth.

Standing before Genevieve’s room, she knocked lightly upon the broad wooden panel and called her name. “Genevieve? ’Tis Alana.”

No answer was forthcoming. Alana hesitated, then pushed the door open and stepped within.

Genevieve sat upon her bed. She raised her head, apparently startled by the disruption.

Alana halted in her tracks, both embarrassed and concerned. “Forgive me the intrusion,” she murmured. “But I did knock…”

“I—I did not hear.” Genevieve swiped at her eyes, as embarrassed as Alana. She sought to summon a bright smile but failed miserably.

Alana hesitated but an instant. In a thrice she was across the floor and kneeling before Genevieve.

“Genevieve,” she said gently. “You must tell me what distresses you so.”

Genevieve refused to meet her gaze. “I—I do not know if I can!”

Alana grasped Genevieve’s hands lightly within hers. She gazed at her steadily. “I’ll understand if you choose not to. But mayhap ’twould ease your mind if you were to talk of what troubles you.”

Genevieve bit her lip. “You will tell no one?”

“I will tell no one,” Alana vowed solemnly.

“Not even Merrick?”

“Not if you do not wish me to.” Alana squeezed her fingers. “Genevieve, I would help you, if only I could.”

Genevieve’s eyes filled with tears. “There is naught you can do,” she said painfully. “’Tis—’tis Radburn, you see.”

“Radburn?” Alana was confused.

Suddenly all was spilling out, and all in a rush. “I—I came here that I might be with Simon,” Genevieve confided, her tone half-choked. “Never did I expect to fall in love!”

Alana caught her breath. “Radburn? You are in love with Radburn?”

Genevieve nodded.

Alana was still stunned. “When did this happen?”

“It—it began when I cared for him after he was injured in the village. The second night, his fever rose. He awoke and he was not himself.” Color rose brightly in Genevieve’s cheeks. “Alana, he called me beauty and he—he kissed me. I—I did not stop him. Indeed, ’twas a—a wondrous thing, for he awoke in me a longing I could not deny!”

Alana gently encouraged her. “What happened then?”

Genevieve took a breath. “I—I tried to forget what he’d done, but I could not. I found myself remembering that moment—and wishing for it to happen again! And, oh…’tis silly, but I would go out of my way to catch the merest glimpse of him. Then one day we chanced to meet when no one else was about. It happened several more times, and soon he confided that
he
did
remember that kiss. And then it was happening all over again…I—I could not fight it,” she confided helplessly. “Nor could he.

Never did I expect to spare a thought for any other man after Philippe,” Genevieve went on. “Yet with Radburn, I could not stop myself from feeling…oh, so many things I never thought to feel again. Alana, we—we have been meeting each other behind the cook-house each evening.”

Alana’s mind was all awhirl. “But why is this such a terrible thing?” A sudden thought occurred and she straightened her spine indignantly. “Did he spurn you? Oh, the wretch—”

“Nay.” Genevieve denied it quickly, but her mouth was tremulous. “But Radburn—I saw him this morn. Alana, he says that it must end and I cannot bear the thought.”

“But why? If you love him—”

“I do!” Genevieve gave a half-sob. “And he loves me. But he is convinced there is no hope for us.”

“But why?”

“Because he is no longer a knight. Because he has naught to offer me. He is a man of honor and principle, Alana. He says he will not sully me should I wish to marry again.”

Only then did Alana begin to understand. Once Radburn might have felt equal to this lady from across the Channel, but alas! no more. A faint bitterness seeped into her soul. The Normans had wrested from the English their homes and lands…and Radburn? He had lost both his station and his dignity.

Yet of a certainty Alana could harbor no malice against Genevieve. She had come to love her as a sister and she couldn’t bear to see Genevieve so unhappy.

She squeezed Genevieve’s fingers. “Do not despair. Radburn may yet change his mind.”

Genevieve shook her head. “A man’s pride is his greatest strength—as well as his greatest enemy,” she said sadly. Her eyes darkened. “And ’twould do no good even if he did. Merrick would never allow such a match.”

“Why? Because Radburn is a Saxon?” Alana’s reply was heated. “
He
married a Saxon! Why should you be condemned for doing the same as he?”

“’Tis different for a man, Alana. He may do as he wishes with no one to please but himself—and mayhap Duke William.” She rose and walked to the shuttered window. Alana’s heart went out to her, for the set of her shoulders was not quite so straight as before.

And alas, she was unable to let the matter rest. When she chanced to see Radburn alone the next day near the herb garden, she quickly made her way toward him. Perchance he might have known what she was about, for he would have turned away had she not called out to him.

“Radburn, wait! I would speak with you.”

Slowly he turned. “Indeed,” he stated coolly.

“Aye,” Alana said quietly. “About Genevieve.”

He stiffened.

Alana bit her lip, for only now did she real
ize her task might well be in vain. His expression was stony, and she suspected he would not welcome her intrusion.

She straightened her shoulders. “No doubt you will think I meddle where I should not. But Genevieve is very dear to my heart, and I would not see her hurt.”

Radburn’s fingers tightened on the handle of the scythe he held. “So she told you.”

Alana nodded. “I have but one question, Radburn. Do you love her?”

“Aye,” he said with no hesitation.

“Then why do you not do all within your power that you might be together?”

“All within my power?” His laugh was grating. “I need not remind you, Alana, I am a slave—a slave to your husband.”

A frisson of guilt shot through her. “And what if that were to change?” she asked slowly.

“It will not. I’ve had word that my father is dead, and all that was his is now in the hands of the Normans. I am not free to make my way as I once was. I am bound to Merrick, even as you are bound to him. I no longer carry a sword in my hand but the tools of a—a farmer!” His lips twisted. “I am no longer chained but I am a slave nonetheless. I am not a man of honor but a man of the fields.”

Alana shook her head. “Radburn, do not persist in this folly, for you will surely break her heart! She lost the man she loved once before. Would you see her suffer the same heartache?”

His jaw thrust out. “Were I able, I would give Genevieve all that I have. But my coffers are empty, you see—stolen by the Normans. So what would you have me do? Offer her my straw pallet in the stable? I think not. And I think you will understand, lady, that I simply do what is best for Genevieve.”

Alana’s heart was bleeding. So much had been taken from him. The chances that might have been his. His hopes and dreams…

She gazed up at him, quietly beseeching. “You told me once, Radburn, that we must accept the Normans, for we cannot beat them. I have accepted that, and so must you. But that does not mean all will remain as it is now. Perchance you might serve Merrick in another way—”

He was adamant. “Merrick will never grant me my freedom, and I will not see Genevieve dragged to her knees as I have been. I would have her on my feet as a man, not as a mudspattered slave to her Norman brother.”

Alana replied swiftly. “Genevieve does not give a care about worldly possessions—surely you know this! You say you would offer all that you have. But she would have you offer all that you are.” Her eyes softened. She laid her fingertips on his forearm and spoke imploringly. “Do not forget this, Radburn, for all is not lost. I beg of you, do not give up.” Leaning forward, she brushed her lips across his hardened cheek, then retraced her steps into the keep.

The matter weighed heavily on Alana’s mind throughout the rest of the day, yet the notion
persisted…
what if Radburn were to regain all that he had lost. His honor. His pride
.

Alas, she could think of only one way.

Merrick had been absent throughout the day, supervising the work in the fields. Alana spied him in the yard as he returned, handing his reins to a stableboy. She held her breath as he mounted the stairs into the hall. She’d asked a maid to convey a message that she wished to dine alone with him above stairs. To that end, she’d ordered a hot bath and a quiet meal for him in their chamber.

Now, as she heard his approaching footsteps, she smoothed the folds of her bliaud. Of palest mauve, it clung enticingly to the fullness of her breasts and slender hips. She’d combed her hair till it shone and left it loose and flowing down her back.

The door was flung wide. Alana rose. In that instant before he swept the door closed, she noted he looked tired. Summoning a smile, she stepped forward.

“You look as weary as I expected, my lord. Your bath awaits, and I’ve ordered food and wine when you’ve finished.” Her voice emerged breathlessly. Sweet Mother Mary, she prayed she didn’t appear as nervous as she sounded!

A dark brow climbed high. “Indeed, Saxon, it seems you’ve anticipated my every need.”

Alana’s laugh was rather airy. Geoffrey lay sleeping in the corner, and she watched as Merrick pressed a kiss on the babe’s head, then he disrobed and lowered himself into
the steaming waters. Her gaze traced lovingly across the clean, spare lines of his shoulders, sleek and damp. Her mouth grew dry as sweet hunger blossomed within her.

Thus was the bend of her mind as Merrick partook of his meal. It had been weeks since he’d made love to her. Only yesterday Genevieve had hinted that she was well enough that they might resume the pleasures of the marriage bed. Her heartbeat quickened at the possibility it might be this very night. Of a certainty she was hardly averse to such an undertaking. The thought of feeling him hard and full within her, planting his seed deep at the very gates of her womb made a quivering heat storm through her veins.

At last he leaned back in his chair. His eyes were fixed on hers, so keenly appraising she was abruptly jarred from her musings.

“I have the feeling, Saxon, that you wish something of me. If so, come out with it.”

Foolish tears stung her eyes. Alana lowered her lashes lest he could see. She cried out inside. What was wrong? Why was he being so cold? It had been so long since he’d been like this and she hated it! This was not what she’d planned, and for an instant she floundered, uncertain how to proceed. But there was no help for it. She must do as he said and simply come out with it.

“I crave a boon, my lord,” she said levelly. “I would ask that you take Radburn from the fields and count him among your men-at-arms.”

His voice came, almost deathly quiet. “You would have me put a sword in his hands.”

Her nod was jerky. “I believe he would serve you well.”

A mantle of silence descended. Powerful hands atop the table, Merrick pushed himself to his feet. Alana couldn’t tear her gaze from his. There was a painful catch in the region of her heart, for she could almost feel the blistering heat rise between them.

And she knew…she
knew
that he was filled with a rage as black as any she’d yet seen.

And so he was. For he’d seen her, his lovely wife, the way her hand fluttered on the Saxon’s arm…the way her lips dwelled oh-so-sweetly on his cheek.

Slowly he walked around her. “Sweet heaven, I cannot believe it!” he burst out. “You would have me put a sword in his hand. Aye, and no doubt I’d soon find a dagger in my back! But that would suit you, eh, Saxon?”