The Warrior and the Dove - A Short Novel (Medieval Chronicles) (8 page)

How could he
not, when ignorance would condemn her to constant uncertainty?

He tried to
remind himself that Herleve had found no evidence of assault. Merciless logic
told him that something could have happened two weeks earlier, when she had
left the priory. If she had refused to marry the man de Beche had chosen for
her, if she had refused to bend to his will, would he have beaten her? Would he
have turned a blind eye to marriage by force? Had he allowed her to be
brutalized?

Hugh thought
about the man he knew only by sight and reputation, and didn’t like any of the
answers. A great hulking brute, probably in his forties by now. There had been
rumors a few years ago that his first wife had thrown herself from the top of
his keep. His second wife, a Norman heiress, had also died young, leaving their
two small sons motherless. What had the man intended for Annith?

Hugh clenched
his hand around the reins, causing his horse to toss its head in protest. He
had to force his fingers to relax one by one before his grip eased. He needed
to stop torturing himself with hideous possibilities. He needed to get himself
under control, because unless Annith had remembered everything while he’d been
gone, and was now distraught, tonight he intended to make her his wife
physically as well as legally. Of that step, at least, he was certain. To his
mind she was still innocent, even if that innocence turned out to be the result
of her loss of memory. He wanted to teach her that their joining would hold
nothing but pleasure for her, before any possible memory of fear or brutality
returned. Which meant he had a decision to make.

How much was he
going to tell her of what he had learned this day?

When the knock
came at the door, Annith rushed across the room to open it. She was sure her face
fell all the way to the floor when she discovered one of the maidservants on
the threshold instead of Hugh.

The girl gave
her a knowing smile over the top of the bundle of clothes in her arms. “Lord de
Verney asked me to bring you these, my lady. And I’m to say he will join you
directly. He is bathing in my lord’s quarters.”

“Oh. Thank you,
Jennet,” she said, recalling the name from earlier as the girl walked into the
room and placed the garments on the bed. “And will you have more food sent up, please.
I expect Lord Hugh will be hungry.”

She felt quite
wifely as she spoke, but Jennet apparently thought her comment hilarious. She
broke into giggles. “There’ll be no doubt about that,” she agreed with an
impudent wink. Still chuckling, she left the room.

Annith blinked
at the closed door. Jennet certainly had an odd notion of humor. But the girl’s
mirth was quickly forgotten when she turned to the bed. A breath of sheer
feminine delight parted her lips. In all her years at the convent she had worn
nothing but brown wool gowns; never had she seen such rich colors.

At least, as far
as she remembered.

Uneasiness
stirred, enough to make her grateful she hadn’t been able to eat much. She
pushed the sensation aside and hurried over to the bed, seizing the distraction
of new clothes as she would a life-saving elixir.

The first
garment she picked up was a gown the color of buttercups. It was plain but made
of wool so soft she couldn’t resist holding it against her cheek for a moment.
Beneath the gown lay a silk bliaut in deepest indigo, embroidered with gold
flowers that glimmered in the light from the fire. A cotton shift and a girdle
of plaited silks peeked out from under the tunic. There was even a carved ivory
comb and a gold mesh crespinette for her hair.

Where had Hugh
found these treasures?

Hugh
. He
would be here soon.

The thought had
no sooner occurred when there was an authoritative rap on the door.  It
opened a second later, and Hugh strode into the room. He was followed by a
maidservant carrying a tray laden with food. She dumped the tray on the table,
dropped a curtsy and scuttled out.

Annith didn’t
blame the girl. She had thought Hugh intimidating in his warrior’s garb;
dressed completely in black but for the bronze and gold braiding on his tunic,
and with his sword still buckled at his side, he looked formidable. And it
wasn’t just his appearance. Power radiated from him with such force the very
air around him seemed to quiver.

He unfastened
his sword belt and propped his sword against the wall. His dagger was tossed
onto the table. Then, as she simply continued to stare, speechless, he smiled
and opened his arms, and all at once the air in the chamber was still again.
Annith rushed forward to be wrapped in his embrace.

“Have you been
fretting all this time?” he asked, misinterpreting her silence. “I hoped you
would sleep.”

“I rested for a
while,” she said, looking up at him. She hadn’t wanted to sleep, hadn’t wanted
to risk dreaming. Not alone in these unfamiliar surroundings.

“No matter.” He
bent his head to touch his lips to hers. “You’ll sleep later.”

No doubt, she
thought, but why were they discussing the matter? Despite the purpose she
sensed in him, he seemed reluctant to bring up the more important issue. She
suddenly realized why, and her heart jumped into her throat. She drew back a
little, shifting her hands to his chest as though bracing herself.

“You know who I
am,” she whispered.

“Aye.” He
watched her closely as he spoke. “You
were
at the Priory. Your name is
Annetta de Saye.” A fleeting smile touched his mouth. “Annetta de Verney now.
From what I gathered, you were happy there. And you were right in remembering
Sister Margaret. She’s the Infirmaress. You helped her in her work.”

Annith gazed up
at him, waiting for everything to fall into place. When nothing happened, her
hands clenched, seizing fistfuls of Hugh’s tunic. “’Tis as if we’re talking
about someone I don’t know,” she said, almost thumping him in sheer
frustration. “Annetta.” She hesitated, frowned; repeated it slowly. “Annetta.
Aye… I can hear someone calling me that, but from very far away, like a distant
echo.”

“Then let’s keep
Annith for now,” he suggested. “I’ve become rather fond of her.” When she
smiled briefly, he asked, “You don’t remember anything else?”

“Nay.” She
sighed, her gaze dropping to her hands. Carefully she straightened her fingers,
smoothing his tunic where she had gripped it, but when he took a deep breath
she looked up sharply.

“There’s more,”
she said, seeing the knowledge in his eyes. “You must tell me.”

“I know. I know,
sweeting.” He gave her a wry smile. “I had almost decided to wait, to let you
remember in your own time, but I can’t keep your past from you. ’Twould be to
deny your courage, and your strength.”

“Is it so bad?”
she breathed, and had to force herself to voice her worst fear. “Was I already
betrothed when we wed this morning?”

“That I don’t
know, but I doubt it. The Prioress told me that you returned to your home
because a marriage had been arranged, but, given the time that elapsed, ’tis
unlikely any formal betrothal took place.”

“Why not?” she
asked shakily. “We met only three days ago.”

“Ah, but,
sweetheart, with me you were willing. You didn’t run, as you did from whatever
match was arranged…”  He hesitated, before adding, “By your guardian,
Baldwin de Beche.”

Her throat
closed up. Something cold and dark touched the edge of her mind, something so
evil it threatened to cut off all reasoned thought, let alone memory. But even
as a shudder racked her body, Hugh’s arms tightened.

“Still nothing?”

She shook her
head. “Sometimes I feel that if I could just push aside the darkness, I would
know… But then it goes again.”

“Leave it for
now,” he murmured. “We can do no more today in any case.” He nodded toward the
window. “Dusk will be falling in an hour. Let’s take tonight, just for us. To
know more of each other, to be together.” He tipped her face up to his, and
began kissing her; sweet, fleeting kisses that made the ice-cold darkness recede.
“We don’t have to go anywhere. No one will interrupt us.”

“That sounds so
comfortable,” she said. “But you already know as much of me as I do myself.”

He smiled at
that and released her. “Then you can ask the questions,” he said easily, taking
her hand and drawing her over to the table. He seated her on the chair and
reached over the table to fasten the wooden shutter at the window, closing out
the world. A large circular candle holder stood in one corner, and he took one
of the tapers and lit it at the brazier, then set the other candles glowing.

Annith watched
him perform the small task, his hands big and powerful against the slender
tapers. With the room lit only by fire and candlelight, she was acutely aware
that they were alone, that they were going to share the chamber, and the bed,
all night. She was accustomed to never being alone during the day, but at the
priory the nuns and girls had slept in their own tiny cells within the
dormitory. Modesty, and the privacy necessary for it, had been a rule.

Now, as she
shifted her gaze to the bed, she realized how little she knew, how unprepared
she was for even the smallest intimacies of married life.

She looked back
at Hugh as he finished lighting the candles and hunkered down to place more
wood in the brazier. His hair, still slightly damp from his bath, caught the
light from the fire. There were no dark brown strands anywhere, it was the
color of blackest night. The same color had shadowed the lower part of his face
earlier, she remembered, but he’d shaved, exposing the chiseled angle of his
jaw, and the hard mouth that could curve unexpectedly with humor or tenderness.

And as she
remembered those moments of gentleness, some of her uncertainty eased. He was
big and powerful, aye. She had felt the force of his relentless will; had no
doubt at all that he could be harsh and ruthless when the situation warranted.
But she also knew he would be patient with her ignorance.

But knowing
that, she thought with a twinge of wry humor, did not lessen the nervous
anticipation humming through her. When Hugh rose to his feet with easy
masculine grace, she leapt from the chair and began moving platters of food
around on the table in haphazard disorder.

“Would you like
something to eat, my lord? Heaven knows there is enough here for an army. I
don’t know why they would send up so much. And—” She broke off, staring in
astonishment at the parchment, quills, and pot of ink on a separate platter.
“What in the name of the saints—”

The rest of the
question lodged in her throat when Hugh wrapped his arms around her from
behind. “You are not here to wait on me,” he said, his warm breath tickling her
ear. “I have to write a letter before morning. And I think ’tis time you called
me Hugh, instead of ‘my lord’.”

“Oh. Aye. As you
wish, my… I mean…Hugh.” The last word was whispered as she savored the sweet
intimacy of saying his name aloud for the first time. “Hugh,” she repeated
softly, and turned her head to smile at him over her shoulder.

Before she could
take another breath, he had scooped her off her feet, whirled her around, and
sat down on the chair with her on his lap.  “That’s better,” he said with
satisfaction.

Annith clung to
him while the room spun about her head. When it settled, she blinked at him.
Even perched on his lap she had to look up to meet his amused gaze. “How are we
going to eat like this?” she squeaked, intensely conscious of his size, and the
hard muscles beneath her thighs.

“Easy.” He
reached out with his free arm, cut a small piece of meat from the large chunk
on the trencher and held it to her lips. “’Tis straight off the spit so I was
told. Warm and tender. You’ll like it.”

She accepted the
morsel, her eyes widening as the tips of his fingers touched her lips for an instant.
Fortunately the mouthful was small enough to swallow whole, because she still
wasn’t hungry.

“Here,” he
murmured, seizing one of the beakers on the tray and inspecting its contents.
“’Tis some sort of potage, I think. ’Twill go down easier, sweetheart.”

“Thank you,” she
said gratefully, holding the beaker between her hands. She took a sip and found
he was right. The warm broth was rich with flavor and eased the tightness in
her throat.

For a minute or
two they ate in a silence that was strangely companionable. She even relaxed a
little while she sipped her broth, watching in some bemusement as Hugh made
inroads into a dish of venison, onions and parsnips, before mopping up the
sauce with a chunk of bread. Eating one-handed, with his other arm around her,
didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“Is it fear of
me?” he asked after a few moments. “That takes away your appetite?”

“Oh, nay,” she
said quickly. “Truly. ’Tis only the past few days…” She made a small gesture.
“Not knowing who I am. And even now that I do, it hasn’t helped.”

“Your memory
will return,” he said with such confidence she had to believe him. “But,
remember, tonight is ours. Shall I tell you about my manor? ’Twill be your home
from now on.”

She seized the
diversion eagerly, barely noticing when Hugh took the empty beaker from her and
fed her a slice of pear. “I would like to hear about your home, my lord. Last
night…” She hesitated, a little uncertain. “Last night, you said your father
died recently. What of your mother? Does she live there still?”

“My mother died
when I was a child of seven.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.
Your father must have been glad of you then.”

“Mayhap, had he
not become bitter over the years, but he sent me off to the royal household to
learn knightly skills. It wasn’t a tragedy,” he said, smiling at the look on
her face and popping another slice of pear into her mouth. “I enjoyed being
with other boys my age, and the King and Queen treated us as if we were their
own.”

“Oh.” She
swallowed the pear. “Was that good or bad?”

He laughed at
that, and reached out to pour some wine into a goblet. He held it to her lips
and she took a few sips. “’Twas good,” he said, putting the cup to his own
mouth and drinking. “But I don’t wonder at your surprise, given the notorious
Plantagenet temper. And Edward has it in full measure, I promise you, although
the King is of a milder nature. They’re a close family for the most part.”

“Is that why
your father was bitter after your mother died? Because he loved her?”

“Nay, if
anything he resented her. He’d been a younger son,” he explained. “And wanted
to enter the Benedictine order. But when his older brother was killed at a
tournament, my grandfather told him to forget the monastic life. He had to
marry for the sake of our lands and the future.”