Claudia Dain (8 page)

"Oh, I do not think he has," Lunete said with simple confidence.

"Shall the wager also include that this kiss must be done with other eyes to witness it?" Roger asked.

Avice shrugged. "If you cannot trust your comrade to tell you the truth—"

"No witnesses, then," Edward said abruptly.

"No witnesses," Avice echoed, holding Edward's gaze.

"And the loser in this wager shall pay...?" Roger said.

"I would rather decide what the winner shall receive, since we are sure to win," Avice said.

"You are confident, ladies," Roger said with a cheerful grin. "I like that in a wager. Makes for more fun."

"Especially when we win," Avice said.

"Then the loser shall pay the winner a single kiss upon the brow," Roger said.

Christine giggled.

"How is that winning?" Avice said, sliding her gaze once again to Edward.

"Aye? How?" Edward agreed, looking hard at Avice.

"Oh, come, 'tis a wager among friends," Roger said. "Shall we instead wager an exchange of blows? The reward is in the winning, not in the prize."

"Not in this prize, surely," Avice said with a tight little smile.

"Then we are agreed?" Roger asked them all, his hands outspread. The fire played lightly upon all their faces, casting light and shadow over their eager expressions.

"Aye," answered the women.

"Aye," responded Edward.

"My lord?" a voice said from the huge, arched doorway to the hall. "Father Matthew awaits."

"Your pardon," Edward said courteously to the group and then melted away into the outer shadows of the hall, disappearing through the arch.

The ladies began to disperse with Edward's departure, up and away to the great stair that led to the upper floors. Roger, in two large steps, caught up with tiny Lunete and said softly to her as she walked at the rear of the ladies.

"You are certain that Ulrich has not even now kissed the Lady Juliane?"

"Oh, yea," Lunete said with a delighted smile, "I am very certain."

Roger stopped and let her go, let them all go. He watched them as they floated up on the stone stairs, their hair and their skirts moving softly behind them, like waving sea grass upon the shore. Watched and pondered and chewed his lip with his teeth.

She did indeed seem very certain.

* * *

"You are certain?" Father Matthew said.

"You know me well enough to know that I am," Philip answered.

They stood in the doorway to the chapel, leaning against the stone, seeking shade from a day gone hot and white with massed cloud.

"You know so little of him, nothing beyond his name," Matthew said.

"I will know more before I am done," Philip said. "I can see no other course. Conor hounds me, and I must have it settled. Time runs from me, Father. I fear this gnawing pain in my breast. I cannot wait."

Father Matthew sighed and looked down at the dirt beneath their feet. It had not rained for a fortnight, and the smallest touch set the earth up into the air as powder. The crops were in danger of burning on the stalk.

"When will you begin?"

"Now," answered Philip. "I dare not wait."

"I will pray that he is the man you hope for."

Philip looked at his priest and grinned. "Yea, pray for that. That prayer must not go amiss, and your prayers are likely heard with closer attendance than mine shall ever be."

"Father?" Edward said, interrupting them. "I am here at your summons."

"And I leave you to each other," Philip said, straightening from the stone and nodding both greeting and farewell to Edward as he strode across the bailey to his tower.

"I did not interrupt?" Edward asked as he faced the priest.

"Nay, we had said all that was needful," Father Matthew said. "I have read the missive from the archbishop. You know its content?"

"Nay," Edward said. "I am a messenger, no more."

Father Matthew smiled and scratched his head. "I think you are more than messenger, Edward of Exeter."

"Unlooked-for praise," Edward said easily, "and welcome."

Father Matthew looked into the eyes of this reserved knight; hazel eyes more green than gray and a hard, straight stare that did not turn away from hard study. He was tall and supple of form, hard with muscle and with purpose, reserved of speech, or so he seemed at first meeting. A quiet, hard man who was in sometime service to the archbishop of York. No fool, then, this Edward. Matthew had heard some small things of him, but nothing to sink his teeth into.

"Did the archbishop give you any word for me, beyond the bounds of his written message?" Matthew asked.

Edward held the priest's stare within his own, swallowing it whole. "He sent no message beyond the one I gave you, my lord. Did it not suffice?" he added with wry humor.

Taking a leap of deadly faith, Matthew said, "It was not the message I was praying for."

There was a silence between them that stretched out languorously, like a cat stretching after a sleep in the sun. Stretched as they studied each other, priest and knight.

"Keep praying, Father," Edward said softly. "All prayers are heard, in time."

They held still, the two of them, reading secrets in each other's faces, and then Father Matthew smiled.

"I shall. Prayer is my function and my art."

"Good day then, Father," Edward said in easy parting. "Until Vespers."

"Until Vespers," Matthew repeated, watching Edward cross the bailey until he was lost to sight in the jostling bustle of a rich man's holding.

* * *

She rode through the gates of her father's holding, the sun lowering toward the treetops, casting her shadow forward in a long, thin, disembodied line. Ulrich was safely behind her, beyond sight, but not beyond knowing. She could feel him at her back, out there, trying to find the path to her, sure of himself and of her. And knowing all that, she rode in an easy canter with an easy smile upon her lips into the home that embraced her.

She knew who she was and was safe in the knowing.

Juliane rode to the stable and dismounted with the aid of a groom. Baldric, coming upon her, asked, "Shall I put the merlin back upon her perch in the mews? She is still full of fire."

She knew well the feeling.

"Nay, give her to me," Juliane said. "I will take her into the hall. She shall sit beside me while I eat."

"A good barrier to Lord Ulrich," Baldric said, nodding his head.

"A barrier? I need no barriers. Let us call Morgause a stumbling block, a tiny caltrops thrown into his path."

"A caltrops? Would you lame him, then?"

"If he cannot manage to avoid stepping onto a caltrops, and one in plain sight..." Juliane shrugged. "He is not worthy of his name if he cannot manage one small bird."

"There is no such thing as a small hawk," Baldric said on a laugh.

"You are too familiar, I think," she scolded mildly, taking the bird upon her gloved wrist.

"I think so, too," Baldric agreed cheerfully, his brown eyes dancing with good humor, "yet you have ruined me for any other service, lady. I shall never clean the cesspit with the same goodwill again, now that I have served you and stood as witness to the men who have dashed their hopes against your name."

"If I think on that long enough, Baldric, I am sure I will find that I have been insulted," she said with a smile.

"Nay, lady, I would never—" he began.

"And as to their hopes, I have no interest and no concern," she finished, grinning. And with those words, she turned with Morgause on her wrist, her arm held high, and walked across the bailey, ignoring all, thinking only of Ulrich and the many ways to ruin his meal.

Chapter 5

"Tell me that you kissed her," Roger demanded.

Ulrich handed his cloak to William, who was very careful not to let it touch the floor before he hung it on a peg set into the stone wall. It was a very high reach for the boy. Ulrich watched as he managed it on his own.

"I did not kiss her," Ulrich said. "I only spoke to her. Would you have her think me a baseborn lout?"

"I would have her think herself well kissed. And on the throat," Roger said, throwing himself down upon the wide bed in the chamber they were all to share. Edward sat upon a stool near the brazier and tipped back against the wall, a delicate balancing act as the stool was three-legged and none too new.

"You have made another wager," Ulrich said flatly. Flatly unsurprised. "What is it now, and with whom have you struck it?"

Roger said nothing, only threw an arm over his eyes and sighed.

Ulrich looked at William. William shrugged and shook his head, pouring water into the basin for Ulrich to bathe his face and hands.

Ulrich looked then at Edward. Edward grinned tightly and said in a strangled tone, "Her sister."

Ulrich turned to Roger and kicked him on the leg. Roger only sighed again.

"You did not."

"I did not do it alone," Roger said, moving his aim and looking up at the wooden ceiling. Ulrich looked up as well. It was painted blue, with the signs of the zodiac done in red. The sign of Aries was flaking. "And it was not my idea."

"Whose, then?" Ulrich asked just before he dipped his head into the water and scrubbed his jaw and neck. It had been a hot day and the insects had been fierce, almost as fierce as Juliane le Gel.

"Hers," Edward said as Ulrich rose from the water. "Avice's."

"She wanted to wager? On her sister?" Ulrich said.

"Well, she would hardly want to wager
against
her," Roger said.

"Strange women come from Philip's loins," Edward said.

"Beautiful, though," Roger said.

Edward shrugged and tipped his stool back farther. It squeaked, but held. Edward's silence told a tale that Ulrich could read right well; his was not to be the only battle of hearts played upon the fields of Stanora.

"What is the wager?" Ulrich said.

"A kiss upon the throat," Edward answered.

"A kiss upon the throat?" Ulrich asked, sitting down on the bed next to Roger. William hung back against the door and watched, saying nothing.

"Aye, a kiss upon the throat. Can you do it?" Roger said.

Ulrich laughed and got up from the bed and strode to the wind hole. It was a fine southern exposure, the sun sliding warm and golden across the land as it disappeared in the rolling hills to the west. Far off stood a wood tinged red in the sunlight, blowing green in the wind. Stanora stood high upon a rocky hill, dominating all that walked or flew for miles around. The wood had been pushed back again and again since the time of the Romans until rocky Stanora stood high and alone, her feet girded by stone and grass and bulwark, her head lifted to the sky. A well-defended spot of earth.

"Can I kiss her?" Ulrich asked the wind. Could he kiss the maid who pushed all from her with hot looks and cold words? Could he find his way past her defenses to the damsel who surely yearned for a man's touch and a man's might? Could he find the woman beneath the legend? "Can I win this wager for you?" Turning back into the room, facing all eyes, he said, "You know I can."

"That is well," said Roger into the general rushing away of tension that Ulrich's proclamation had generated, "for then I can claim a kiss from Christine."

"Christine?" asked Edward. "Is she the one who has turned your eye? All she does is giggle."

"Aye, and I would be the one to turn that giggle into a sigh," Roger said, grinning.

Edward grunted and straightened up his stool, running a hand through his hair. "You are welcome to her."

"Oh, I know," Roger said. "You prefer them snarling and suspicious."

"I do not," Edward said, standing.

"Who?" Ulrich asked Roger, though he knew the answer.

They had been at this before, once in Caen, twice in York, and once again in London. 'Twas an old game between them, started when they were knights newly made and on their own in the world, making a way for themselves where no way had been made for them. They knew each other well and, for all their puppy snarling, were as close as brothers and as true.