By Right of Arms (30 page)

“I have seen Faon cast a lusty look at Ryland. Mayhap an alliance will form there.”

“ ’Twould be like Faon to find a knight of any color to bed and she does not care whether ’tis friend or enemy of the man who provides for her. She is not wise. She is a bitch in heat. Her time is short.”

“Short enough? I doubt it.”

Ryland had been in residence for four days. Aurélie had heard more than enough. There were few words passed between Hyatt and Ryland, but her husband watched his brother scrupulously, and not a word that left Ryland’s lips was ignored. She could see by the expression on Hyatt’s face, the slight turning of his head or a pulsing in his temples, that he was alert.

She entered her bedchamber after the evening meal and found Hyatt seated before a flaming hearth, sweat beaded on his brow and staining his linen shirt. He pounded and polished his broadsword, a chore better done at the smith’s fire, for he had made the room sizzle with unnecessary heat.

He glanced her way briefly, then looked back to his work.

She sensed his need to remain close to where his brother lingered, yet it was obvious he had a strong desire to keep his hands busy. Hyatt abhorred idleness. If much more of time like this passed, Hyatt might be driven to mending for want of tasks.

Aurélie said nothing about the hot, steamy room. She went to the far corner and removed her gown, placing it carefully away. She unbraided her hair and separated the plaits with her fingers, pulling the long tresses over her shoulder. Barefoot, clad in only her shift, she went to stand behind Hyatt, placing a hand on his shoulder. She leaned close to his back, her middle pressed against his straining shoulders, and lowered her lips to the top of his head. He did not turn to her in this unusual display of affection, but his movements of the oiled cloth against his steel blade did slow. “Hyatt, do you remember her? Your mother?”

She felt the stiffness in his spine, but it was a brief reaction. “Aye,” he said. “She brought Lachland to my father through marriage. Why do you ask?”

She placed her other hand on his other shoulder, softly kneading his tense muscles. “It is said that she was good and kind, and very devoted to her family.”

He leaned his head back against her breasts. “I suppose she was. She died when I was little more than a child.”

“And then came an evil woman into your father’s household.”

Hyatt gently closed his eyes, though Aurélie did not see. “You have listened well. You surely have the story now.”

“You urged me to come to you for confirmation of the facts,” she reminded him.

He sighed heavily. “It was a hasty remark on my part,” he said with some chagrin. “ ’Tis not a matter I can easily discuss with anyone. Leave it to say that I have had no family for many years … since I was a young man. Perhaps it has really been since the death of my mother, though it was later when I left Lachland.”

“Had your mother lived, you would not have come to France. The woman would have had no chance to betray you and your father would not have died without you near.”

Hyatt groaned at the thought. “The blame is not entirely Faustina’s. She lied, but Lord Laidley chose her word over mine. ’Tis a sad day when a man will choose a woman’s lie over the truth of his own flesh and blood.”

There it was; the original seed of all this distrust. Hyatt had failed to remember the good love of his mother, and could not forget Faustina’s treachery.

Aurélie lowered her cheek to rest on the top of Hyatt’s head. For the first time since he had come, she felt that he was vulnerable; that he, too, had a soft, bruised place on his heart that could be touched by a lover. She pitied the boy whose mother had died, whose father had failed him, whose brother betrayed him.

“Come, Hyatt. Your shoulders are stiff from your practice of arms today. Lie down on the bed and let me knead away the pain.”

He chuckled a bit and burrowed the back of his head into the softness of her breasts. “ ’Tis a foolish thing, what a man will do to save himself from the ill of ennui. This room is like a simmering hell.”

Perhaps, she thought, to match the hell of sad memories. There was a fluttering in her womb. She had only felt such movements a few times over the past days, but with the evidence that the child grew she knew great joy. She had not expected Hyatt to feel the slight fluttering, but he had. He pulled away slightly and turned to look up at her. “My son?” he questioned.

“Or daughter,” she said with a warm and yielding smile.

He looked away, a pensive darkness in his eyes. “It is a sign of strength when the child moves so early.”

She caressed his jaw with the palm of her hand, causing him to turn his face and look up at her. “Of all worries, Hyatt, do not doubt the child’s strength. That much is proven already. This child was conceived in the midst of a war, the seed of a ruthless conqueror that burrowed itself into the womb of a frightened and unwilling bride. ’Tis a child meant to be born, a child who was strong since its genesis.”

Hyatt rose slowly from the stool before the fire, laying his broadsword down in front of the hearth and using the poker to scatter the logs a bit so that the fire could die out more quickly. He moved toward the bed and stripped off his short linen gown and chausses, casting them aside.

Hyatt sat heavily on the bed and Aurélie noticed that the lines of fatigue burrowed deeply into his face. His shoulders appeared slightly slumped with exhaustion, though she knew it was not wrought of physical labors. She passed him to blow out two tall tapers and open the shutters to the room, daring to look at him only from the corner of her eye. Her husband was energized by his work and beaten down by boredom and suspicion. He was better placed in a war with weapons braced than waiting in his house for some lowly serpent to strike.

She went to the opposite side of the bed and climbed on, kneeling. She gestured with her hand for him to lie down, and without hesitation she began to rub his back and shoulders. He wore only his loincloth and his body glistened with perspiration. Under her fingers the tension in his muscles stood as taut as cords of heavy rope. He sighed deeply as she used all her strength to soften the knots of strain in his back, shoulders, upper arms, and thighs.

She began to realize more as she touched him. Perhaps he had not slept well since Ryland’s arrival; that would explain the penetrating fatigue that showed on his features. And surely the other man’s presence caused a dreadful pain in recounting all those old memories. Hyatt still felt the deep betrayal of his mother’s death; one woman had loved him with devotion and loyalty, and she had died. Faustina had made him the pawn in a relentless pursuit of her own selfish gains, tearing his father’s love from him. And Faon, it was said, had somehow used him, tricked him, and now held his beloved son in a strained balance between her success and failure. How did Hyatt so stoically endure the betrayal of these women? It was no wonder he could not love a woman.

“Hyatt, do you sleep?” she whispered.

“Nay, Aurélie,” he sighed. “Your ministrations are welcome. I had not realized how I overtaxed myself.”

“You must have used the lance and sword fiercely,” she murmured, willing to let that be the excuse for his weary frame.

“I shall use better judgment in the future,” he replied tiredly.

“You must sleep, Hyatt. A good night’s rest will serve you well. Come morn, you will not feel this ache.”

“Oh?” He chuckled ruefully. “Do you mean to utter some sorceress’s incantation over me as I sleep?”

Aurélie lightened the pressure in her fingertips, stroking his back with her palms. How aptly they avoided the details of this strife! One day, perhaps, he would share the pain in his heart with her. And she might even tell him of the many hurts that she tried to lay to rest to reconcile herself with this new life, this new beginning. But for now it hurt him to speak of his past and he could bear no more pain. Still, he did not seem to mind that she knew … however sketchy her knowledge.

“You are wise to refuse to love women deeply,” she said. She felt him tighten under her hands. “If you hold yourself in control of your heart, what happened to your father can never happen to you.”

“How do you mean that?”

“I can give you my promise for a few things, Hyatt. I can promise you that I will love this child that I carry; I will tend him well and faithfully. ’Tis true, I have longed for a child—and one born of a strong father. Now that the life of my longing moves within me, you need not wonder how I shall cherish him, for he is born of strength and he is my desire. I will not use him as a pawn in the inheritance of your possessions, nor will I seek to bind you closer with him, for I can accept the oath you gave the priest and will ask nothing more. But Hyatt, I cannot swear that I shall never die. And should I meet some angel of death before my child is grown, I’d rather that you’d never loved me than that your loss of me would drive you to madness, that the child would lose both mother and father.”

He was still and silent for a moment and then very slowly he rolled over, looking up at her. Aurélie knelt still, her long honey-streaked hair falling forward over her shoulders. He gently caressed the silky softness of her arm, sending shivers of delight through her. The light in the room was suffused and dim, the fire giving its last to glowing embers. But still, she could see the uncertain cloud in his dark eyes.

“Do you mean, my Aurélie, that you would rather have my sworn love given to my child than to you?”

She let her chin slowly drop. “If that is the best way to assure that he will never lose his father’s love, yea.”

“And what of his mother’s love? Should I be removed from this castle by some heathen sword, what will become of my child? If you fancied yourself filled with some desperate love for me, you might, in your misery, forget that part of me I leave behind. You might, in your loneliness, welcome some unscrupulous devil into your house, your bed; one who means only to use you.” He shook his head. “Do you see, my Aurélie, why it is unimportant to me to hear these troubadour’s words and poems from your lips? I wish only that you know who your husband is, but that your love is steadfast unto your own flesh. I have seen the treachery that some women disguise as love, and I am certain there are men who likewise cripple their prey from the same empty words and promises.”

His hands were closed about her arms and in his eyes she could see how earnest he was. How frightened he was to commit from his heart, how terrified to feel the depth of devotion, lest it be cruelly revoked. Perhaps, when some time had passed and Hyatt was less afraid, she might talk with him about the man his father had truly been. They might learn together that Lord Laidley was not made weak by grief, but was weak all along and had lost his only strength when his wife died. It would have been thus with Giles, had Aurélie died. He was not strong or wise enough to endure alone. Hyatt seemed not to understand that in this union both of them were equipped of wisdom and strength and beating them would not be so simple, whether they stood singly or together as a pair.

She knew it would be a long while before they could speak any more freely than they did now. By the tone in Hyatt’s voice she could tell that he desired a greater closeness with her, but there was a fear and distrust that rang through his words. He had bought his fears at a high price. She pulled one arm from his gentle grasp and lovingly brushed the errant lock of hair from his brow, leaning low to place a gentle kiss where her fingers had touched. “Worry not, Hyatt. I know who my husband is, and whether you live or die, the child I carry shall be nurtured with devotion and love. And I am not so unwise as to yield to any devil in my grief … as you are well aware.”

He gave a brief, rueful chuckle. “For some reason I forgot that I conquered a widow. ’Twas a virgin widow I forced into wedlock to protect my newly acquired lands. Yea, you are not easily tempered, wench, but I see that you begin to come around.”

“Lest you become too arrogant, messire, I would have you know that I reckon your lordship here because ’tis a better lot we bear with you than the alternatives. Ryland, I can plainly see, is wicked and should not be trusted. And what I have heard of Sir Hollis makes you seem much the avenging angel, rather than the heathen we thought had penetrated the walls.”

He smiled and ran a finger from her throat to the valley between her breasts. “From devil to angel, woman? My face has changed in your mind. You’ve grown soft. The truth, Aurélie; is it not that now that you have found those pleasures that lie in the marriage bed, you refuse to be without them?”

She raised one finely arched brow and smiled at him. “What pleasures are those, Hyatt? Forsooth, since Ryland’s coming I have shared no fleshly pleasures with any man, angel or devil. You have been too beset with worry to notice me. Perhaps my memory will be refreshed when your beastly brother has finally gone …”

“… Or sooner,” he said hoarsely, pulling her down to meet his lips. She yielded with the ardor that had become common in their private hours together. And when their passion was spent, they lay in each other’s arms, Hyatt’s head resting gently at her breast. She tenderly stroked his hair and knew that he slept well, fortified by the very love he could neither claim nor acknowledge.

* * *

The first faint rays of morning sun were just beginning to rise over the farthest eastern knoll when Aurélie heard a movement in the bed behind her. As Hyatt stirred, she turned from the open window to look at him. She smiled inwardly as she noticed that the first thing he did upon waking was to reach toward the place she had occupied, and then with a jolt he turned to look for her.

He relaxed instantly as he found her nearby, at the open window. “ ’Tis unlike you to rise before me.”

She smiled at him and took two steps to the bed, bending to place a wifely kiss on his brow. “You often rose and watched me sleep. You have rested well, messire. Are your muscles yet sore?”

“Nay.” A roguish grin graced his handsome lips. “I always sleep well after such a night, madame. But why are you up and about so early? Whither are you bound?”