Brewer's Tale, The (62 page)

‘Are you?' He waited. ‘Anneke … God. I don't know what to say. Sometimes, the only means we have to express how we feel are so inadequate.' He took my hand back in his, his thumb stroking my palm. I shivered. ‘What I'm trying to say, very badly, is now that I've seen you, I can no longer pretend. I want, no, dear God, I need more. I was a fool to think seeing you alone would be enough.'

Only in my most private and wicked of longings, did Sir Leander admit to such things. Yet, here he was, saying them and so much more. I didn't dare speak.

‘My greatest regret is that I wasn't there to protect you; to defend you, Karel, Saskia and the others. Jesù,' he struck his forehead, ‘I was not even there to comfort you. Can you ever forgive me?'

‘Nay, you were busy exchanging vows, feasting, celebrating your wife. The wife you chose not to tell me about, passing that task to my brother.'

‘Anneke, it wasn't —'

I didn't let him finish. ‘You need no forgiveness, my lord. It was not your duty to do any of those things.' I winced at how prim I sounded.

So did Sir Leander. ‘I'm not talking about duty.' He snapped. ‘God, Anneke. I'm talking about what's right.' His hand resided briefly over his heart.

I thought about that. What was right. Nothing about what had happened was right — not Will's death, Saskia's, Louisa's and certainly not Karel's. It wasn't right that Betje was burned or that Westel Calkin unleashed his brutality upon me. It wasn't right that out of such a violent union, two such gentle souls had been produced. It wasn't right that I, Anneke Sheldrake, daughter of a merchant, was reduced to living in a bathhouse in Southwark and forced to make a living from brewing. It wasn't right that the man I wanted and needed was married to another and beyond my reach. Yet all these things had happened.

Right had nothing to do with any of it.

‘And it's right that you're here?' I bit back. Sir Leander's whore had grown teeth. ‘That you abandoned your wife — oh aye, just as you have made a point of learning of my folly, I too have learned of yours — to search for your squire's sister?'

‘You're more to me than my squire's sister, Anneke.'

‘It's Anna now.'

‘Not to me. Never to me. You'll always be Anneke.'

Turning my head aside so he couldn't see the tears that welled, I shut my eyes and took a deep breath. Once, I'd longed to hear those words from his mouth. But that was in a different time, when daydreams were still possible; before a monster had ripped those from me and destroyed my family with the flames of his hatred …

But that wasn't true either. I would be the phoenix, the creature who rose from the ashes to soar among the clouds, stronger than before. After all, was I not taking another chance with the brewery? Was I not risking all to make a living? Why not with love as well? After all I'd lost, did I not deserve that?

I no longer had a maidenhead to barter for a title or wealth through marriage. What remained —my body, my love — didn't need to be sold. My brewing and Alyson's support allowed me that choice at least. From hereon, I could choose to give both to whomever I wanted.

All this raced through my head in the time it took Sir Leander to retie his cape. He picked up his cane again, melancholy etched upon his features, as if he were mourning an end. Before he could step out of reach, I rose to my knees and grabbed the edges of his cape. Was it love he was offering? Did it matter?

Lightning spilt the sky, followed closely by a long low growl of thunder. Dogs began to howl.

When he turned around, questions on his lips, I let go of his clothes and ever so slowly, my cheeks flaming at my daring, drew my shift over my head and threw it to the floor. I shook out my hair until it draped my body, an unruly veil of russet and red.

Drawing his breath in sharply, Sir Leander took me hostage with his eyes. ‘Anneke.' My name became music, a wild note to which my heart danced.

He stood motionless, only the muscle in his cheek and the throbbing vein in his neck evidence of his perturbation. I willed him to touch me, to ignite the passion bubbling inside us both.

‘Do I look so very terrible?' I asked.

Sir Leander gave a bark of laughter, his twinkling eyes capturing every last inch of me, his mouth curving into an appreciative smile.

‘Terribly beautiful. Good God, woman. What are you doing to me?'

Unable to wait any longer, I began to undo his laces, pushing the heavy wool cape from his shoulders. It tumbled onto the rushes, followed by his cane, which struck the wood of the bed like a clarion, a call to love.

Clasping my face in his hands, he forced me to look at him. ‘You're playing with fire, Anneke,' he said, unaware of the effect his words had upon me. I was the phoenix, after all. Fire was my element. From its ashes I would rise.

‘If I don't leave now, I never will,' he said.

Taking his hands, I placed them upon my breasts, gasping as they filled his warm, busy hands, and drew him closer and closer still, falling back onto the bed so he was forced to follow. With a groan that echoed in his chest and in the darkness outside, he bent to kiss me.

Placing my lips softly against his, I murmured.

‘Only if that's a promise …'

THE SWANNE

The next day

The year of Our Lord 1407 in the eighth year of the reign of Henry IV

N
ever before had I so appreciated the artistry of the troubadours and poets; how they could capture an emotion with a mere word or phrase. Pain, sorrow, grief, loss, joy, aye, all these, but the manner in which they described the greatest of sensations — love — made me marvel at their gifts. Had not a thousand ships been launched in love's name? A war of ten years fought for it? Had not Socrates dedicated an entire symposium to defining what this strange and wonderful affliction was? To be able to chronicle the feelings that course through one's heart and head, one's body, the irrational thoughts, the daring and belief in the impossible, was surely indicative of God's grace.

For certes, it was beyond my abilities.

Thus as I lay abed, watching the weak grey light of morning play across the ceiling, although I knew the coming day was likely to be dull and cloudy, I could swear the blessed sun flowed through my window, promising nothing but warmth and luminosity.

I stared at the man who lay sound asleep beside me, his smooth chest rising and falling, his long lashes sweeping his cheeks, the dark bristles of new growth the only shadow on this bright, glorious dawn. It took all my willpower not to rouse him with a kiss or, my cheeks coloured as my eyes dropped to the area between his thighs, covered by only a sheet, some other means.

Smiling, I rose quietly, relishing my nakedness for perhaps the first time in my life. Told my body was made for sin, I'd felt ashamed of what I possessed. No more. If what I enjoyed with Leander was a sin, I would embrace it over and over and rename myself Eve.

Or Lilith.

Washing myself quickly with the water from the ewer and basin on the cupboard, my eyes journeyed back towards the bed and my sleeping lover.

Lover. Leander. How beautiful those words sounded together. How right.

I dressed in my kirtle and tunic, binding up my hair, which Leander had so thoroughly tousled. ‘If you knew how I've longed to do this,' he'd said and twined his fingers through it, using my locks to caress my nipples, my thighs, to hold me in place while his lips ventured where I'd ne'er guessed they'd dare … I replayed the night — not so much our lovemaking, that was easy, a mere heartbeat or breath away, sending darts of pleasure throughout my sated body — but our conversation.

We'd talked of Elmham Lenn, of what happened after he left — the alehouse, the fire, the deaths. He'd held me close as, for the first time in months, I quietly wept. Tangled in his naked limbs, secure, I found a haven. We spoke of Westel. I didn't need to elaborate. He knew.

‘His price was not high enough,' he muttered darkly, referring to his death in the fire that consumed the house and so much more. Upon that, we were agreed.

We talked of his marriage, of his wife the Lady Cecilia and, as strange as it sounds, I loved him more that he didn't ignore her. Begging forgiveness that he didn't relay the news of his nuptials to me himself, he admitted that at first he was relieved to pass the task to Tobias.

‘As soon as the feeling swept me, I knew I must not shun my duty and told your brother the same. That I would write. But when he suggested you might misconstrue my intentions, I understood it was a test.'

‘A test? Oh. As to whether or not my feelings were reciprocated.'

‘Aye. Or mine. You see, I knew my own heart. Of yours, I was less certain. I could not have your brother broker our relations, especially with my wedding imminent, nor did I want him confirming his suspicions. I knew you would bear the brunt of his wrath. Tobias has firm ideas of propriety.' He smiled fondly. ‘Thus, I said nothing. Can you forgive me?'

I did.

Their marriage was one of convenience, and though his wife was not told why he had cut short their honeymoon, she didn't complain either. Ensconced in their London house, Ashlar Place, Lady Cecilia was preoccupied with ordering new furniture and fabrics and ensuring the servants were disciplined and the household efficient. ‘All that a woman of her station should,' I'd muttered, without rancour or envy. Mayhap, there was a little of the latter. How could there not be when my days were spent arranging grain, water, coal and wood, and worrying whether the servants had emptied the mash tuns or the troughs on time, whether the right herbs were added, the water temperature was just so, and the wort boiled for the correct amount of time. If it wasn't these details preoccupying me, it was whether the ale-conners passed a brew or if all our barrels would sell.

Lady Cecilia may be accommodated in Rainford property, have a right to use the family seal and claim the name and, possibly, bear children (though she wasn't young, I reassured myself on that count, being at least thirty-five), but she did not reside in Leander's heart.

That was mine. All mine.

Around me, the house began to stir. The pitter-patter of feet across rushes, the closing of doors and hushed greetings sounded. From outside came the clomp of hooves and the cries of bakers and other vendors peddling their wares on the way to market.

As I sat to lace my boots, it occurred to me there was only one difficult topic of conversation between Leander and me: Tobias.

After Elmham Lenn, Leander had sent Tobias back to London to join his wife and hadn't seen him since. All he could tell me was that dealing with Karel's death, the fire and Betje's injuries had not been easy for my brother and that he'd spent a great deal of time praying.

‘For Karel's soul,' I whispered in the dark.

Leander didn't respond immediately. ‘Nay, my love, for yours.'

Tobias wasn't alone in blaming me for what occurred; I couldn't condemn him for that. Then why did I feel … betrayed? Abandoned by my own? No matter how I tried to justify his reaction, it rankled.

‘You will be reconciled,' said Leander. ‘I will make sure.'

Nestled in his arms, it would have been easy to believe, to allow him to order Tobias to behave cordially towards me, but it wouldn't work. Tobias and I had to reach our own accord, not have one negotiated by his master. Otherwise we'd be like England and France, forever snarling across roiling waters, always trying to seize territory from each other or, worse, pretending affection. I couldn't bear that.

I explained this to Leander and he fell silent, stroking my hair, his beating heart offering consolation of one kind while the lingering taste of him on my tongue presented another. There was only one subject we hadn't yet discussed and, as I drifted off to sleep, I knew I would have to broach it soon.

Leaving him to sleep, I closed the bedroom door behind me and hesitated, wondering if there was time to see the twins before I went about my business. The babble of voices from below was the answer. The day had begun without me. Ambivalent about not bidding my babes good morning, as was my custom, but knowing they would be brought to me later, I swiftly ran down the stairs. When I reached the lower floors, servants were sweeping out the large fireplace in the hall; Alyson's voice carried through an open door, Adam answered her with less animation, while in the kitchen and beyond, the oven was stoked, bread was rising on the counter, pails of milk were being slopped over the floor and a pottage was being nursed back to life. Greetings were exchanged along with a couple of knowing looks. No doubt, the reason for my lateness would be a source of gossip.

Warmth flooded my body, the notion not nearly as disturbing as mayhap it should be.

Opening the cellar door, I descended the stairs to the brewery, praying no-one else had yet arrived, for while my babes would forgive my absence this morn, the wort and corner crones would not.