The Apothecary Rose (36 page)

She had just poked the fire to life and started break
fast when Owen came in with a load of wood.

Lucie's heart skipped a beat. 'I hardly expected you
so early.' She turned away from Owen to hide the relief
on her face.

'I am sure there is much to be done.'

'I have managed.'

He stacked the wood by the hearth while she pre
pared the porridge.

They ate for a while in silence. Lucie tried to think
how to ask Owen what his plans were, why he was
here.

Owen broke the silence first. 'Jehannes is to be
the new Archdeacon of York.'

'Is that good?'

'I think he is an excellent man.'

Lucie nodded, staring at her bowl.

'And Michaelo is replacing Jehannes’ Owen said.

'That does not seem such a wise choice’

'I would agree with you there. The Archbishop says
that Michaelo feels he has been given a second chance
at Heaven, and that will make him loyal’ Owen's tone said the Archbishop was a fool.

Lucie was surprised. 'You do not care for the Arch-
bishop?'

'No,' Owen looked angry. 'Michaelo's family bought
him.'

At the moment Lucie did not want her trust in the
Archbishop undermined, so she changed the subject,
'Did you while away all your time at the abbey in
gossip? Were you not to decide what to do with
yourself now?'

Owen looked guarded. 'Has the Archbishop spoken
with you?'

'Yes. I am to have the shop for my silence. And
you? Has he spoken to you?'

'He told you nothing else?'

'What else was there to tell?'

'Anything about me?'

'He said you wanted to find honest work’

'That is all?'

'Yes, Owen. What did you think?'

'I want to remain here. As your apprentice.'

Her eyes opened wide, then her face lit in a grin. 'You are joking’

'No’

'I cannot imagine you being content with that’

'I can imagine it’

'You are running away from life’

'From my old life, yes’

'You will itch for action’

'Then I will go out in the garden and work up
a sweat. Chop wood. Dig holes. Move trees’

Lucie laughed.

Owen was disappointed. He'd been a fool to hope.
He should have known she would not agree. 'You still
think of me as a soldier. You have condemned me to
that life forever’

'I'm sorry.'

'People can change, but you'll never believe it. Where
would you be if Nicholas had assumed you could be
happy only as lady of the manor? Would you have
liked spending the rest of your life in a convent?'

Lucie blushed. 'Someone else might have asked for
my hand.'

There he went, insulting her. Jesus Lord, he had an unlucky tongue. 'That is not the point. I have told you
more times than I can count that I am finished with
soldiering. Why won't you believe it?'

'Why should I believe anything you say? You insinu
ated yourself into my household with a lie. You
sneaked around and lied about what you were doing.
Oh, surely, now you say that you want to be my appren
tice, but how do I know that you're not still in
the Archbishop's employ? Keeping an eye on me, perhaps? Just in case Widow Wilton was a poisoner
after all?' She was shouting at him, as if her voice
were a whip with which to hurt him for hurting
her.

Owen stood up. 'I never wanted to lie to you.'

'Nevertheless, you did.'

'I also saved your life.'

Lucie bit her tongue.

'I'm a fool to keep trying to make you believe
me. You rejected me the moment you saw me.' Owen
walked towards the door.

'Please sit down, Owen. I don't mean to argue with you whenever we speak.'

He turned. 'Perhaps it's a sign that my apprenticeship
is a bad idea.'

'What would the Archbishop think of this plan?'

Owen realised that she was stalling. She did not
want him to walk out the door. All right. He would
see where this led. He returned to the table. 'I told
him what I planned. He did not object.'

'He did not tell me.'

'I thought he would.'

Lucie picked up the dishes, wiped off the table,
then sat down across from him again. 'Aunt Phillippa left yesterday. I could use help. At least until the
Guildmaster can find another apprentice.'

'Try me out.'

She sighed. 'I have to, don't I? I signed a contract.
The Guildmaster witnessed it.'

'When I lied, I forfeited any right to hold you to
the contract.'

'You have been far more helpful than an ordinary apprentice.'

And he continued to be, on through the spring. At first Lucie watched him, wondering why he stayed, and if perhaps the Archbishop had actually planted him there
to watch her. But Owen stuck with his work all day,
accompanied her to Mass on Sundays, and, according
to Bess, met with no suspicious drinking companions
at the tavern. Unless he did not sleep, Owen had no
time to work for anyone but her. So Lucie relaxed. She
let him work on his own more, and accepted his sug
gestions when she agreed with them. There even came
an evening - it would have been Nicholas's birthday -
when Lucie needed company and invited Owen to stay
after the meal and sing to her. As before, his voice
moved her. Cheered her. She realised how fond she'd
grown of his crooked smile, the birdlike way he moved
his head to see everything with the one eye, even the
way he argued with her when she was being stubborn.
She liked having him here in front of the hearth with
her at the end of the day.

She did not confide any of this to Bess.

The Breton jongleur haunted Owen's dreams. The wild-eyed man crept towards him from the shadows.
His leman crept up behind. Again and again Owen
caught her arm as she reached for his eye and yanked
the arm behind her. At dawn his comrades congratu
lated him on the corpse. And he was whole. He was
Captain of Archers. Across the Channel his wife waited
in his bed, dreaming of him, longing for his return.
He could see her there, her white skin, her silky hair
spilling down her naked breasts . . .

Owen woke in a sweat, as he had many nights
through the spring. He slipped out of the York and
walked. Walked fast. Walked until the tenderness of the dream, the joy, was sweated out of him, cleared
from his head. It would not do to dream of Lucie Wilton as his wife. She had shown no such inclination. But this
night he could not shake the feeling of tenderness. He
returned to Davygate still disturbed. He opened the
gate beside the shop and went back to the garden.
There was a pit for compost to dig. He stripped to
the waist and worked in the moonlight.

Lucie woke at the sound of the gate, terrified. It
was too late to be Owen or Bess. The intruder passed
under the window, and then silence. She held her
breath. Then she heard someone shovelling, far back
in the garden. She threw on a shawl and picked up the
walking stick Owen had cut and shaped for Nicholas.

The full moon lit up the garden. Lucie kept to
the shadows, tracking the intruder. But it was no
intruder. Worse, perhaps. It was Owen, stripped to
the waist, sweat shining on his back and arms. The muscles in his back flexed and rippled as he worked.
Geof had once told her that archers had to be very strong
to make an arrow fly all the way to the enemy. She
remembered the feeling of Owen's arms around her.
He was as unlike Nicholas as a man could be. She
wondered if those muscles were hot to the touch
when he worked like that.
God forgive me for such thoughts.
She should go back inside. But she could not
take her eyes off Owen. Moon-mad, both of them. He for digging a hole in the middle of the night, she for
staring at him. She shivered, although her body was
uncomfortably warm.

Owen sensed he was being watched. He looked
around, saw her. Dear Lord, all his work to put her
out of his mind, and there she stood in her shift, her
hair tumbling down around her slender shoulders. 'You
should not come out here like that.'

'I thought you were an intruder.'

'All the more reason.'

'What are you doing?' She stepped closer. He smelled
of sweat and rich earth.

Owen stabbed the shovel into the pile and used it
to climb out, staying on the side of the hole farthest
from her. 'I could not sleep.'

'Something troubles you?'

He thought of some innocent lies, but it was no use dissembling with her. She obviously had no idea how
he felt about her, to let him see her like this. 'Lucie, our arrangement is not working. I was a fool to think
I could work so close to you and not want you.' He
wiped himself down with his shirt.

'You dreamt of me?'

'Aye. A scoundrel, eh?' If he made light of it, per
haps she would not notice how he was trembling on
this warm night.

Lucie stepped around the pit to him, coming so
close he could see the moon in her eyes, feel the
heat of her body. 'You're shivering’ she whispered,
and opening her shawl, she pulled him to her, wrapping
them together, and pressed herself to him. It felt good
to touch flesh. And when he put his arms around her,
she felt the life in him, the warmth. She kissed him.

'Do you know what you're doing, Lucie?'

'I dreamt of you once. It frightened me.'

'Why?'

'I don't know. I never dreamt such dreams about
Nicholas.'

Their bodies moved against each other.

He pressed her to him, delighting in the scent of
her. 'I cannot trust myself, Lucie.'

Nor could she trust herself. Perhaps she was wrong. She thought of running, but the empty room and cold
bed were uninviting, and he was warm and alive and
he wanted her. 'Kiss me.'

They slipped to the ground entangled in each other and made love, Lucie with a passion unlike anything
she had experienced with Nicholas, Owen with a ten
derness he had never before known.

They woke chilled by the dew.

1 love you, Lucie,' Owen whispered, kissing her.

She propped herself up on one arm and looked at
him. 'Did you really think I might have poisoned Geof
for my family's honour?'

'Why bring that up now?'

'I want to know.'

'You were strong and proud. I thought it possible.'
She looked beautiful with her damp hair clinging to
her face.

'You are certain now that I was innocent?'

He smiled. 'Innocent in that instance, yes. But you
are still strong and proud. I cannot say what you might
be capable of.'

'Soldiers prefer their women meek and obedient.'

Then 'tis a good thing I'm no soldier, eh?'

She brushed his hair off his forehead and touched
his cheek gently. 'I think I could love you, Owen.'

Could. Merciful Mother. 'You could not lie, just
for this moment, and say you love me?'

Lucie gave him that damnable level gaze. 'That
would not be a good way to begin.'

Instead of arguing, he gathered her to him and held
her close. She clung to him. And he thought perhaps
he had not been a fool to save the jongleur. Per
haps the blinding was God's way of leading him to
Lucie.

'We will marry’ Lucie said at breakfast. 'And you
will remain my apprentice.'

'Have you decided you love me, then?'