“There is nothing for him to discover,” India
returned. “I said what I did in order to stop his suggestions
without insulting him. After all, he is our host.”
“You dealt with him most wisely,” Theuderic
conceded. “Tell me, do you really have a quest?”
“Only to return to my own home,” she
replied.
“I do confess,” he said softly, “that I’d be
sorry to see you go.”
“I thought at first I would be unhappy here,”
she said, responding to his tone. “But it’s not so. It’s different
here in Francia – how different you cannot imagine – but I am not
unhappy. You and your men are good people, Theuderic. I like
Savarec, too. I might even like Danise if I were to meet her.” She
stopped there, fearing he would misinterpret her words if she told
him that she had been wondering what a Frankish girl’s life was
like. She needn’t have worried. Theuderic wasn’t thinking about
Danise, or about Savarec’s proposal. As soon as Marcion and Hugo
appeared, eager to pull out the trundle bed and test its comfort,
Theuderic threw himself down on the larger bed.
“Are you going to sleep in your armor even
here?” India asked, incredulous. Theuderic did not open his eyes
when he answered her.
“We are still east of the Rhine,” he
said.
“Savarec doesn’t wear his armor,” she
noted.
“That is Savarec’s affair. I do not remove
mine until we reach Aachen.” His words brought into her mind the
picture of a misty late-winter forest, a stream, and an iron helmet
filled with watercress. “That is my quest,” he added quietly.
Marcion burst into irreverent laughter at his
leader’s announcement.
“I will also sleep without undressing,”
Marcion declared. “That way, I’ll be ready to leave at dawn.”
“Me, too,” said Hugo. He removed his sword
belt and boots, then fell onto the trundle bed fully clothed, his
great weight making it creak and sway alarmingly. Once it had
steadied again, Marcion lowered himself more carefully to the
mattress and pulled up the quilt.
India looked down at them, at Marcion curled
on one side of the bed with the quilt around his shoulders, at Hugo
trying to wrestle his fair share of the quilt away from his friend,
and at Theuderic on the other bed, stretched out with his hands
behind his head and his legs crossed at the ankles. And she
knew
, absolutely and certainly knew, that all three of them
were fully aware of what she was. They were going to sleep with
their clothing on in order to spare her, and themselves, from any
embarrassment. How dear and kind they were. She wished she dared
hug each of them. Well, perhaps not all three of them….
“Put out the lamp and come to bed,” said
Theuderic, watching her through half-closed eyes.
She did as he ordered, the open shutters
allowing enough light through the window for her to find her way to
the bed.
“You will have to move over,” she told
Theuderic.
“Ah, no,” he replied. “If you are not to be
tied to me this night, then you will have to sleep between me and
the wall.”
“But—” she began.
“I’m weary,” he said. “I’ve not rested in a
bed for weeks. If you are wise, you’ll let me sleep and not test my
mood.”
Bending over, she removed her boots, then
tried to crawl across his legs to get to her allotted portion of
the bed. She paused, kneeling on his shins while she fumbled with
the covers. She heard him swear under his breath just before he sat
up, caught her around the waist, and flipped her onto her back.
Somehow she was beneath the covers with Theuderic’s mail-clad form
on top of the quilt making a wall to keep her from escaping.
“Good night, Lord India,” said Marcion in a
perfect imitation of Savarec’s voice. Hugo emitted a long, relaxed
snore, and then complete silence fell upon the room.
India began to laugh. She was quiet about it,
but she could not help herself. It was all too funny – Savarec
trying to marry her off to his daughter sight unseen, the three men
with her surely aware that she was a woman but no one admitting it,
herself forced to lie in bed next to Theuderic without being
allowed to touch him as she wanted to, her very presence in that
time and place – all of it was absolutely, completely ridiculous.
She knew she was close to hysteria, but she could not stop the
laughter that demanded release. She began to shake. In another
moment howls of laughter combined with floods of tears would pour
out of her and she would not be able to stop.
Two of Theuderic’s fingers came down firmly
across her lips, pressing hard, trapping her laughter.
“If you make a sound, I’ll strangle you,” he
murmured into her ear. “I swear I will.”
She put her own hand over his and did what
she wanted to do. She kissed his fingers. She heard him catch his
breath, and then her hand was held against his lips, and she felt
the moist fire of his tongue across her palm. In a way she did not
understand, that gesture calmed her, bringing her back from the
brink of lunacy to the realization that she could not give way to
her feelings. Not here, not yet. All she could do for the moment
was trust Theuderic to get them through to some other place, some
later day, when they could resolve what lay between them. For the
first time since coming to Francia, she found herself hoping that
Hank would not be able to locate her soon.
She fell asleep with her hand still clasped
tightly in Theuderic’s.
They were all up well before the sun, and as
soon as it was light they loaded the horses onto the barge that
served as a ferry. India and most of Theuderic’s band also went
aboard, but Theuderic, Marcion, and Hugo waited on the shore with
the two ferrymen. “Why the delay?” India asked Osric, who was
helping her to make Eudon comfortable on some bales that had been
stacked near where the horses were tethered.
“There are more passengers to come,” Osric
replied. “That’s all I’ve been told. But, see, there they are
now.”
Having finished tucking Eudon’s cloak beneath
him in a way that would help to support his injured hip, India
turned to look at the building that dominated the little village.
The gates of the garrison were open, and out of them rode Savarec
in a green cloak. Behind him came two horses, each bearing a woman
who was sitting sidesaddle and, last in the group, a young man
whose horse also carried a sturdy middle-aged woman riding pillion
behind him.
While those on the barge watched with
considerable interest, this procession made its way to the wharf,
there to be greeted by Theuderic and his lieutenants. Eager to
learn what was happening, India moved toward the gangplank.
“I give my daughter Danise into your
safekeeping,” Savarec was saying to Theuderic. “Deliver her to
Aachen, and from there she will be escorted back to school at
Chelles.”
India knew the abbey of Chelles near Paris
maintained a famous school for noblewomen. The king’s own sister
resided there, and she would in time become its most famous abbess.
It was perfectly reasonable for Savarec to ask Theuderic to see his
daughter safely as far as Aachen, but after the previous evening,
India could not help wondering if the garrison commander had some
ulterior motive for the arrangement.
Of Danise herself, little could be seen. She
was completely covered by a hooded brown mantle. India guessed that
the tall thin woman in black robes would be the nun who was her
companion, and the middle-aged woman was doubtless a servant. The
young man would be a groom sent with them to care for the
horses.
With the respect owed to a woman sworn to the
religious life, Theuderic politely gave his arm to the nun to help
her cross the gangplank, and Hugo, at a word from his leader,
extended his own arm to Danise. Having delivered his daughter to
Theuderic, Savarec started back toward his headquarters.
With neither the nun nor her father watching
her, Danise pushed her hood off, revealing the pale gold braids and
oval face that India had seen in the garden the day before. As she
put her hand on the waiting Hugo’s forearm, Danise looked up to
meet his eyes and smile at him. Hugo’s face reddened. Danise
appeared a bit startled, but then an expression of wonder and joy
crossed her features, making her radiantly beautiful. Hugo smiled
down at her.
It happened in the time between two breaths,
but India, watching the scene, knew that Hugo had just found the
love for which he longed. From Danise’s entranced expression, she
did not doubt that Hugo’s feelings were returned.
How she envied them. How she wished that she,
too, could allow herself just to feel without analyzing her
emotions and without fearing them. Deeply moved by what she had
witnessed, she watched Danise glance one last time toward her
departing father, watched Hugo leading her onto the barge, saw them
exchange a few words. As though in a dream, India wove romantic
predictions about the pair until a footstep beside her caught her
attention. With her expression unguarded and all her feelings open
to him, she looked into Theuderic’s eyes. The longing she saw there
made her tremble with a rush of sweet desire.
With the additional horses and people now
brought aboard, the barge was more crowded than ever. Someone
brushed against Theuderic, making him take a few steps forward.
India put out her hands, resting them on his chest, on links and
links of chain mail. His lips parted, his eyes devoured her. She
felt his right hand at her waist. She could not breathe.
“Count Theuderic!” The nun tapped him on the
shoulder as if he were a servant.
“The lady Danise and I expect more attention
from you. I see no provisions to make us comfortable or to keep us
sheltered from the sun. Lord Savarec assumed that you would provide
the necessary amenities for ladies of our rank.”
“Dear Sister Gertrude, don’t fret.” Danise
had arrived on board, with Hugo beside her. “I am quite content
with the arrangements made for us.”
“Danise, put up your hood at once,” snapped
the nun. “You know your father’s orders. Do not display your face
for all these common men to see. Oh, what are we to do? There is
not even a decent place for us to sit. This is shameful treatment,
shameful. The next time I see your mother, Count Theuderic, I will
complain to her about this.”
“You could sit with Eudon,” Hugo offered
helpfully. “Some of those bales are soft as pillows.”
“Bales?” Sister Gertrude was outraged. “Do
you mean we shall have to sit upon cargo?”
“Please, Sister Gertrude,” came Danise’s
patiently respectful voice, “I don’t mind standing. Indeed, I would
enjoy it, so that I can see everything better. Perhaps, Lord Hugo,
you would show us a place where we won’t be in the way.”
“It would be my greatest pleasure.” Hugo
wisely offered his arm to the nun rather than to Danise. With
surprising grace for a man so large, he led the ladies across the
now moving barge toward the port railing.
“I will speak to you more strongly later,
Count Theuderic,” said Sister Gertrude. Over her head, Theuderic
smiled at India.
“I am at your service, Sister Gertrude,” he
said with perfect manners.
India watched the nun try to pull Danise’s
hood forward, but as soon as Sister Gertrude’s hand left the
fabric, Danise swept the hood off again. Then she smiled into
Hugo’s eyes.
“Does Sister Gertrude really know your
mother?” India asked Theuderic.
“It is entirely possible. She looks to be
about forty years, which is my mother’s age. My mother was schooled
at Chelles, so they might have been girls together. But my mother
is nothing like that nun, I assure you.”
At the moment, the nun seemed to be concerned
by all the horses on board, watching them with a wary eye instead
of guarding her young charge. Standing at the railing, Hugo bent
his head toward Danise.
“Hugo loves her,” India murmured.
“Who, Sister Gertrude?” She was familiar
enough with Theuderic by now to be able to see the way he tried to
keep his mouth firm and hard, but the corner that always betrayed
his sense of humor turned upward in spite of his best efforts.
“That would be a remarkable match,” said
India, trying not to laugh. “No, I mean Hugo and Danise. I saw it
happen. It was beautiful.”
“Love is a foolish thing. It always ends in
grief.”
Somehow she knew he did not speak only of
Hugo and Danise.
“Theu.” She had never before called him by
the familiar nickname his men used so freely.
“India.” He said her name in the slow,
accented way that always stopped her breath. His eyes held hers,
and in their silver-grey depths she saw the answer to the question
in her heart. Her throat closed, preventing any sound. Her breasts
tingled. Why, oh, why, would he not touch her? Why did he keep his
arms so stiffly at his sides instead of putting them around her?
She ached for some physical contact with him.
“It’s madness.” At first she wasn’t sure
whether she had spoken or if he had, because the same thought lay
in her own mind. But it was Theuderic, with his firm sense of
reality, who guided her away from the paralyzing, overwhelming
desire that would have exposed them both to scandal. “We cannot
give way to feelings. See to Eudon’s comfort. Consider that an
order and leave me, please India, for at this moment I have not the
strength to leave you, and we are attracting Sister Gertrude’s
notice.”
“Yes, sir.” It was fearfully hard to break
contact with his eyes, but she did. Bowing her head, she went to
Eudon, and at his side she stayed until they reached the western
bank of the Rhine. By then it was mid-morning, and the sunny sky
had been replaced by rolling clouds. India was glad to leave the
dampness of the river for Eudon’s sake as well as for her own.
“We will need to rest here for several
hours,” Sister Gertrude said to Theuderic as soon as they were all
ashore at Köln, “to recuperate from the rigors of the
crossing.”