Brewer's Tale, The (33 page)

Thinking this was a game, the twins giggled and clapped their hands in appreciation. Saskia called encouragement.

‘You can't follow the rules, can you, my lord?' I said as we came together.

He smiled. His teeth were so white. His skin, even in the dead of winter, darker than most, especially against the creamy collar of his shirt, carried lines of experience and laughter. I could see some bristles where Tobias's razor had missed.

‘I find that amusing, coming from a woman who creates her own.'

I shook my head, glancing down at my feet so I didn't have to look at him any longer. The warmth that suffused my body was fast becoming a furnace and I felt everyone watching us. I wanted to escape his hold, return to the safety of my stool, but I let the music and Sir Leander carry me forward towards the centre of the room.

‘Mistress Sheldrake,' he said softly. ‘Anneke …'

My head shot up. Not so much at the use of my name, but at the tenderness in his tone.

‘There's something I've not told y—'

‘Look where you are!' Betje leapt to her feet, pointing.

‘You have to kiss her!' shouted Karel.

I glanced toward the twins to see what Betje was madly indicating when a pair of lips captured my own.

It was as if a thousand butterflies were released inside me. My heart hammered, my head spun. Tingling sensations that began where his mouth held mine escaped to travel to every single part of my body, suffusing it with white-hot heat.

His kiss deepened as the roaring in my ears, in my chest, in my heart, grew. An ache such as I'd never known rose from deep within me to radiate out to the tips of my fingers, to the ends of my feet. God forgive me, I groaned into his mouth as our tongues twined. I so desperately wanted to draw him closer, feel the entire length of his firm body against mine. My hands explored his back, inching upwards and longing to coil his silky black locks around my fingers. The hand that held me tight crept lower until it rested against the curve at the base of my spine; his fingers burning through the wool of my tunic …

The surging in my ears increased, warning me.

My eyes fluttered open and with all my strength, I shoved Sir Leander away. He staggered back a step or two, tossed that dark head and laughed. Without his stick, he almost lost his footing.

The twins were crying out in glee; the servants were open-mouthed, laughing and cheering. Father Clement crossed himself; the captain clapped. Tobias shook his head, what I thought was an uncertain smile hovering on his lips. Only Westel, who'd abandoned Iris to watch, was grim-faced. I stared at them all and then Sir Leander, chagrined, perplexed. I pressed my fingers to my swollen mouth and then swiped the back of my hand across it. My cheeks were flaming, my eyes glassy.

It was not that he'd kissed me that distressed me so much as how I'd responded. Oh, sweet Mother Mary, with every fibre of my being I'd answered his Christmas kiss with a wantonness that shocked me.

Frozen in the moment, the movement around me didn't register until the swirl of skirts and flicker of hands could no longer be ignored. Already the kiss was forgotten and the dance had resumed. After all, what else did one do beneath mistletoe? It was custom. First Saskia and Captain Stoyan, then Iris and Blanche, Tobias and Louisa also kissed, cheeks, mouths, fingers, as they moved around and beneath the greenery.

I wandered unsteadily back to my stool, to the twins who both sought my lap as soon as I sat down, Karel winning, Betje taking second place by my side.

In a daze, my thoughts and flesh afire, I watched the dancing, refusing to look at Sir Leander, even though I knew exactly where he was in the hall and with whom he chose to dance and for how long.

Tobias staggered over, looking as if he wished to say something but, as he drew closer, he changed his mind and led the twins away instead.

‘Last dance before bed,' I called, grateful for the distraction.

‘Not till we've had frumenty!' cried Karel as Tobias swept him into his arms and spun him around. Finding his feet again, Karel planted his hands on his hips and stared at me, waiting for a reply, determined not to miss any of the fruity pudding he loved.

‘Very well,' I agreed, ‘but then straight to the nursery.'

Leaning back against the wall, I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair. It had come completely loose and fell over my shoulders, forming tangled tendrils around my face. I tried to make it neater. It was a lost cause. Addle-headed, I left my hair undone and sighed again.

‘Are you all right, Mistress Sheldrake?'

It was Westel. Standing next to me, on the other side of Betje, who'd fled the dance, he passed me a fresh cup of wassail. I blinked and gratefully took it, swallowing it too quickly. I spluttered and wiped my mouth, aware again of my lips, of Sir Leander's. I saw the flash of his dark green doublet out of the corner of my eye.

‘Shall I get you some water?' Westel pushed Betje aside gently and knelt down. Our eyes were level. He had such a sweet face. No wrong could come from someone who looked like that, could it? He didn't steal kisses, call me whore, retract it and then confuse me with his ways.

‘I'm fine,' I said slowly. ‘Just very warm.' I fanned myself with my hand. ‘Thank you for the drink.'

‘Thank you, Mistress Sheldrake.'

Betje tried to grab my attention. Karel ran over, a bowl of frumenty in his hand.

‘Are you all right, Anneke?' he said between swallows.

‘I think it's time for you two to go to bed,' I said.

They began to argue, but hearing me, Louisa came at once. ‘Come on,' she said softly. ‘It's well past bedtime. Bring the frumenty with you. Tomorrow's St Stephen's Day and you want to be awake early to receive your gifts, don't you?'

The reminder of the presents we would exchange was enough to still any arguments the twins were ready to muster. With hugs and kisses, bows and goodbyes, they bid us all goodnight.

Once they'd left the hall and the dancing resumed, I turned my attention to Westel again.

‘For what do you thank me, Westel? The way I see it, I owe you a great deal. Life has been very different since you arrived at Holcroft House. The success of the ale, the quantity we produce, is in large part due to your hard work.'

Squatting, his elbows on his thighs, his fingers pointing towards the floor, Westel considered his response. For all that he appeared open, Westel was a closed book to me. Aware of my thoughts, he flashed a grin. ‘Aye, and for that I'll reap my own rewards. But you've been so kind to me. You've not only given me a job, but welcomed me into your family and given me a home.' He looked around the room. ‘I don't recall ever experiencing merry-making like this. Christmas past was spent in prayer, in cloisters and then, tending the poor.'

‘I don't imagine you would have spent the day this way where you came from. It must feel strange … wrong?'

‘Not wrong. Not exactly.' Westel gazed at the floor. ‘It's not what I'm accustomed to, that's all.'

Interpreting that as another thanks, I patted the back of his hand where it dangled above the floor. ‘You're very welcome.' I smiled. ‘I hope you're with us for a long time, and that you will always enjoy the fruits of your labour.'

‘Oh, I intend to, Mistress Sheldrake. Always. No matter how hard or long I've to work.'

There was something in his tone that gave me pause, but then he flashed that smile. I nodded and returned it. ‘May God bless you!' I lifted my cup towards him, inviting him to touch it with his own.

Our cups clicked and for a fleeting second, I saw something in his eyes that reminded me of the icicles that formed over the lintel to the shop. I shrugged the notion off and, in companionable silence, Westel and I watched the dancing.

Little did I know as the music played, the floor thrummed and my mind settled into a comfortable haze, that this would be the last time I would know real happiness.

HOLCROFT HOUSE

St Stephen's Day

The year of Our Lord 1405 in the seventh year of the reign of Henry IV

T
ipping his comb so the wattle beneath was exposed, the rooster stood atop the stone wall and crowed as I crossed the yard. Wrapping my shawl tightly and striding quickly, my breath was a stream of pearlescence against the coming dawn. The ground crunched, each footstep loud in the still air. As I neared the coop, the soft clucks of the chickens disturbed the peace, followed by snuffling pigs who began to trail my path, searching for something edible where my heel cracked the white mantle of snow. I missed the hounds' enthusiastic welcome, but assumed Adam must have risen early to walk them.

Pushing open the brewery door and inhaling the rich malty scent that clung to the place the way woodsmoke does clothes, I lit the candles, stoked the kiln and, as I did every time a brew was ready to be barrelled, sang the ale to life.

Lowering my arm into the cold mixture, I sucked the air in through my teeth. Before long, I'd shucked off my tiredness and relished the way the liquid caressed my flesh, adhered to my arm, covering me in a protective layer. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I fancied the fluid grew warm with each verse. Out the window, the sky slowly transformed, the grey swallowed by a whispering palette of rosy pinks and soft yellows before a band of gold fired the horizon. Lost in reverie as I sang, my mind drifted back to last night and the moment Sir Leander kissed me.

It had been so unexpected and yet, as his lips touched mine, it was as if, I too, had been sung into life.

A sweet feeling blossomed in my core, my song deepening as I relived the sensations summoned from my body. I remembered the taste of cloves and wine upon his warm, firm lips, his liquid tongue … Oh dear Lord, his tongue … The scent of pine, the comforting odour of velvet, and something that I couldn't identify, something that belonged just to him clinging to his doublet. I recalled the silky feel of his hair sweeping my cheek as we closed the distance between us and, earlier, as we moved across the floor, united in our dance in a way that we could never be in life. A tremble shook me. Shutting my eyes, I allowed one arm to drift in the now tepid ale, while the other tightened around my middle, imagining that it was Sir Leander holding me once more.

A shout brought me back to my senses. My eyes flew open and finishing the song as quickly as I dared, I withdrew my arm, studying the pale ale, fancying that it wasn't the sunlight stealing through the window alone making it glow, but the heat and ridiculous hope roiling in my soul.

If my offering to the corner crones and goddess was not as measured as usual, I knew they'd forgive me. The house was astir and the call I'd heard earlier now echoed about the yard. Frowning, I wiped my arm and hands on a cloth and went to the door. I was about to pull it open when it was wrenched from my hands.

‘Morning, Mistress Sheldrake.' Sleep-tousled and rather heavy-eyed, Westel flashed me his customary grin, touched his ever-present cap and, tucking in his shirt, staggered down the stairs and wended past the tuns and troughs to the malthouse.

‘Good morning, Westel.' I peered around the door. Dressed in cloaks, Adam, Saskia and Iris were shouting for the hounds. ‘Is everything all right?'

Westel shrugged. ‘It's the dogs, mistress. They're missing. Adam thinks something's happened to them.' He scratched his head. ‘They probably became fed up with waiting and took themselves for a walk; it's well after prime.'

Frowning at Westel, who shrugged, heaved off his boots, picked up the shovel and descended to the malthouse, I glanced back outside. There was an urgency to Adam's stride as he marched around the yard, to the way he cupped his hands about his mouth and shouted.

‘I'll be back shortly,' I said to Westel. ‘Can you stir the mash as well, please.' I ran outside.

There was no sign of Iris, and Adam slipped out the church gate before I could reach him. Spinning around helplessly, I saw Saskia. She was ignoring the pigs grunting at her feet, her eyes screwed up against the sun, her mouth grim.

‘Oh, Mistress Anneke,' she wrung her hands. ‘The hounds have gone. Normally, that wouldn't be such a worry, but their rope's been cut and the gate's open.' She pointed towards the alley.

I half-ran to the stables where the dogs were secured each night and bent down to inspect their bindings. Saskia followed.

‘See?' she pointed at the neatly severed ends of rope. ‘That's been done by a knife and a sharp one at that.' I glanced over my shoulder towards the gates. One was ajar — just wide enough for the dogs to slip through. ‘Someone's taken them …'

‘But, they wouldn't go with just anyone,' I protested. ‘The gate's been left open plenty of times and the dogs have slipped their rope before. Someone had to have lured them out of the yard.' I studied the ground. Fresh snow had fallen overnight. There were no prints except for the scuffed marks of boots — ours. ‘Or forced them out …'