Enchantress Mine (46 page)

Dagda returned, and was surprised to see her up and about.

“Where have you been?” she asked him.

“I had business at Westminster,” he said quietly.

“My God! What have you done?”

“Something that should have been done years ago, and don’t ask, my lady. I’ve already been to confession to receive my penance.” He took her hand from the basin and examined it. “That’s a nasty gash you have. Will you treat it yourself?”

“Aye. Nara has gone for some of the things I’ll need. What penance were you given?”

“A silver penny donated for the church’s poor. Ten aves, and ten paters. More than enough for the soul of a whore though I doubt she even had a soul.” He put her hand back into the basin.

“Oh, Dagda! Surely no one has ever loved me the way that you do. You make me feel ashamed.”

“Never, my lady Mairin! I am but keeping my promise to your sainted mother. We will not speak on it again now.”

Nara returned, bringing with her the requested ingredients, and Mairin instructed her to take one of the onions, peel it, and pound it into a paste. When this was done to her satisfaction she added from her medicinal pouch which was attached to the twisted rope girdle she wore about her waist salt and several leaves of rue which she first crumpled into powder. This mixture was then moistened with a splash of the vinegar and a small section of the honeycomb. What resulted was a thick paste. Removing her injured hand from the water, Mairin spread it over her slashed palm, and then Nara carefully bound the wound with two strips of linen bandage.

“Pot the rest of the ointment,” Mairin instructed her serving woman, “and keep it in a cool place.”

“Aye, my lady,” said the serving woman, and taking the pestle in which Mairin had mixed her poultice she hurried off with it.

“Shall I see if my lord is awake?” Dagda said.

“Aye. I will see to the meal,” replied Mairin.

The big man hurried up the stairs while Mairin began cutting up the bread that Nara had brought from the nearby baker. It was still warm. Next she sliced thin slivers of cheddar cheese which she piled upon the bread. She set the bread and cheese upon a grill hung over the flames of the fireplace to toast. Nara brought a small ham to the table, and cut several generous pieces, piling them upon a platter.

“Mind the bread,” her mistress instructed her, and set four polished wooden trenchers about the table along with their matching goblets.

“The bread is ready, my lady,” said Nara.

Mairin turned back to the fire saying to the serving girl as she did so, “Fetch the pitcher of ale, and hurry! I hear my lord and Dagda coming.”

Nara scampered off, and Mairin carefully lifted the toasted bread and cheese onto a wooden platter which she placed upon the table. Upon the sideboard was a bowl of hulled strawberries and she put them next to the platter of ham.

“Good morrow, enchantress,” Josselin said slipping his arms about her and kissing the soft hollow on the side of her neck.

She snuggled back against him for a moment enjoying his warmth and his closeness. “Ummm,” she murmured as his arms tightened.

“The hand?” he murmured against her skin.

“I will survive,” she said dryly. “I dressed it earlier.”

“Then I don’t have to worry about seeking another wife from amongst the court ladies?” he teased.

“That,”
she said, “is not amusing, my lord.” Then slipping out of his grasp she turned, pouting. “And to think I arose to see to your breakfast myself! Well, sit down, my lord!”

With a chuckle he settled himself at the table’s head and motioned to Dagda and Nara to join them. Here in the little London house they could not be bothered with formality for there was no room for it. The table here was T-shaped, and as they began to eat, their men began to drift in from the stables where they slept. Nara had consumed her own meal quickly for it was her responsibility to see that the others were fed. Each man-at-arms was given a trencher of bread filled with a mixture of cooked grains, and a mug of brown ale. The wheel of cheese was placed upon the long end of the T where the men sat. Gratefully they sliced chunks from it with their knives. The lord and lady of Aelfleah were generous to them. Having listened to the tales of other masters while awaiting their own yesterday at Westminster, they realized how fortunate they were.

“I do not want you out in the city today,” said Josselin to his wife.

“Nay,” she said, “I need to rest. I am yet weak from the blood I lost yesterday. The day is fair, and I would sit out in my orchards which are in full bloom.”

They walked together later beneath the hauntingly fragrant pink-and-white apple blossoms in the orchard by the London house. Above them the sky was cloudless and blue. It promised to be perfect weather tomorrow for the queen’s coronation. They stood and kissed long slow kisses beneath the curtain of branches.

“When I saw Blanche attack you yesterday I thought I might lose you, enchantress,” he said. “For a moment my legs would not move, and I was terrified I could not get to you in time, yet only a few seconds elapsed after she drew her knife before she was taken into custody.”

“It felt more like a hundred years,” Mairin admitted. “I never expected her to come at me like that. It was plain that she had lost the game.”

“I pity the abbess at St. Hilary’s who must contend with her,” he replied.

“Yes,” she said, and nothing more. She did not tell him that Dagda had practically admitted to killing Blanche de St. Brieuc. If Josselin learned of Blanche’s death he would not be likely to connect the death with Dagda. She knew what crisis of conscience that deed had cost Dagda for it had been many years since her former warrior had raised his hand against another human being. That he had felt it necessary to do so distressed her. It was better that Josselin not know for she would not want Dagda to suffer for his misguided loyalty to her—or had it been misguided? Perhaps Dagda had known just what he was doing. Perhaps he had been right. Blanche de St. Brieuc had never hesitated to do what she thought necessary even if it meant hurting another.

“What are you thinking of?” Josselin asked her.

“Blanche de St. Brieuc,” she said honestly.

“Do not. You frown most fiercely when you do,” he said and then spreading his cloak upon the ground he drew her down with him.

“What shall I think of then, my lord?” she said with a little smile.

“Lambing,” he whispered, laying her back against his arm. Undoing her girdle he pulled her tunic over her head, and tossing it aside undid the laces of her camise. He slipped his hand between the halves of the soft linen to cup one of her breasts. “Ahhh, sweeting,” he murmured as he fondled her, “I want you so very much! I am as randy for you as that billy goat you are forever accusing me of being.” His thumb rubbed at her nipple, and he kissed her with mounting passion.

How delightful, she thought, as her head spun with their shared ardor, that each time they made love it was even better than the last. She hoped it would be so forever. His mouth closed over her nipple and tugged upon her flesh, eliciting a corresponding throb from the hidden place between her thighs. She loved the feel of his mouth upon her flesh! Reaching out she threaded her fingers through his tawny hair, and pressed him even closer to her breast.

He slid his free hand beneath her skirts, and up her silky leg. Mairin shifted her body to give him greater access, and her thighs parted. “Ahh, wanton, you are eager,” he murmured, his fingers parting her nether lips to tease at her femininity.

“And you, my lord, are not?” she said softly, moving so that she might reach out and slip her hand beneath his long tunic to fondle him. Her hand closed tightly about him as he pushed two fingers into her soft body. Within her grasp she felt him throbbing as his fingers imitated the deed that his manhood craved to do. He was driving her wild by both his actions and with the knowledge that he lusted for her as much as she lusted for him. “Take me!” she whispered fiercely to him. “Take me now!”

With a groan he rolled atop her, pushing her skirts up to her waist, yanking his own tunic up. With one hard thrust he filled her full of himself, and she bit through the cloth of his tunic to score his shoulder with her teeth. Wildly they loved one another, wrapping legs and arms about their thrashing bodies. It was as if they were both possessed by demons. Neither could get enough of the other.

Gritting his teeth he thrust over and over again into his wife’s welcoming body. Her nails dug into his fabric-covered shoulders and she made soft little mewling noises while her own body met his eagerly. There was no time or space any longer. There was only the two of them blending into a oneness of such passionate purity that Mairin thought before she lost total control of her senses that they would burst into flame and incinerate themselves entirely.

With a roar that sounded almost victorious, he poured his offering into her waiting womb. Then he sank down upon her half-clad breasts, his breath coming in tearing gasps, and she wept with joy. The sound of her sobbing startled him, but for a long moment he simply could not move. He felt as if his very life’s blood had been drained from him.

Sensing his distress she moved to reassure him, patting his head weakly for she herself felt happily exhausted. “It’s all right, my lord and my love. It’s all right. I am just so happy, for I love you, and I love how we love!”

He managed to roll off her, and propping himself upon one elbow he looked down into her face. “Ahhh, enchantress, you fill my life with such joy. I feel almost guilty for the love we share.”

She stopped his mouth with her hand. “No. Love is the blessing that God Almighty has gifted us with, my Josselin. Pity those who do not realize it, and thank our Blessed Lord for opening our eyes to this great knowledge. I have found throughout my life that love is the saving grace. Had not Dagda loved me I should have been lost those many years back. Had not my foster parents loved me I would have had no home. Had not Basil loved me I would not have learned passion. Had not you loved me I would not have become a woman. Death teaches one sorrow, but love teaches one life, for to love is to live. I think that is what God would have us do, my Josselin. He would have us live to love!” Then she drew his head down, and kissed him sweetly.

Her mouth was soft, and faintly reminiscent of strawberries. “I wonder if the church would agree with you, Mairin. You make it all sound so simple.”

“That is the secret of life. Simplicity,” she laughed. Then she lifted her hips up, and drew her skirts down. “I suggest you do the same, my lord. Should someone come to seek us you would startle them with your bare bottom.”

“You were not thinking about propriety a few minutes ago when you lay beneath me clawing me and whimpering. You were quite shameless as you urged me onward. Anyone coming upon us would have been shocked.”

“Shocked to hear you bellowing like a bull in stud,” she teased him back.

“I did not bellow,” he said, sounding offended.

“Yes, you did,” she giggled. “You positively roared!”

Breaking off a stem of clover, he tickled her nose. “Did you find it exciting, my lady?”

“Did you?” she countered.

“Aye. I liked playing the bull to your little red heifer,” and tossing the clover aside he took her long hair in his hands, and crushed it. “Tonight,” he said. “Tonight you will wear nothing but your long hair, and I will love you again until the dawn.”

“And then we will not be able to reach Westminster in time,” she teased. “We will offend the king and the queen, and how will you explain it, my lord?”

He scrambled to his feet and pulled her up after him. “You are far too logical for a woman,” he grumbled, “but dammit I love you!”

“Would you have rather wed with someone like Blanche de St. Brieuc?” she mocked him. At his look of outrage she chuckled. “Well, you liked her well enough to walk in her brother’s garden with her. What fools you men can be! The shrew stalked you, and had you not been wed to me when she arrived in England she would have had you, for all your protests. Not knowing her vile character, you would have thought yourself fortunate until too late you realized your mistake.”

“But instead,” he said, wrapping her in his arms, “I wed myself to an enchantress with a sharp tongue. Now kiss me, you hotheaded spitfire! Both the air and our sparring have made me hungry once again for you.”

Mairin’s mouth turned itself up in a seductive smile, and she replied in a deceptively sweet and docile voice as she tipped her face up to him, “As my lord commands me, for has my mother not taught me to be a good and dutiful wife?”

“Ahhh, vixen,” he murmured against her tempting lips, “I wonder that I should not beat you,” and stifling the laughter that bubbled from her throat he kissed her.

I
t was unusual that a woman be crowned in her own right, but when William of Normandy had taken his inheritance back from Harold Godwinson, his wife had demanded that she be crowned too. There were those among his own advisers who agreed with Matilda. The strong character of the king could be softened by the mother figure Matilda represented. At first William had resisted the suggestion. England wasn’t yet fully conquered. It was not safe for her to come. Wasn’t it enough that he was now its king? Matilda thought not. If William was king then she would be legally queen. William loved his wife deeply, and peace within his own house was a necessity. When she would not give up her dream of a coronation he found himself forced to give in to her. Besides, he reasoned with himself, perhaps his advisers were right. Matilda would be good for England.