Snow in July (19 page)

Surprise forced him back a pace. “What? Even Sir Robert?”

She gripped the window casing and leaned her head against her hand. “I shan’t disobey the king. I cannot bear to imagine what he would do to my father or to the people living under our protection.” Her chin quivered. “Marrying Sir Robert will cause me to break my vow, but I am willing to endure that for the sake of my people.”

“What—” He swallowed hard, despising the question but craving the answer. “What sort of vow? Is it to someone you love but cannot marry?”

She uttered a short, mirthless laugh. “Aye.” Her free hand crept up to the side of her neck, convulsed a few times in a motion resembling a halfhearted scratch, and fell away. She drew a shuddering breath. “A Norman ambushed my brother and dealt him a mortal wound. On his deathbed, I-I swore—” Her words dissolved into a flood of tears.

“And you swore never to marry a Norman because one of us killed him.” He tried to leech the bitterness from his tone but wasn’t sure how well he’d succeeded.

Nodding, she turned and sobbed against his chest. He circled his arms around her, sorry for her loss and wishing he could do more to comfort her.

“Alain, I am sorry,” she rasped between breaths. “I wish it could be different for us.” After her tears had run their course, she dried her face and regarded him earnestly. “But you understand that I cannot dishonor my brother’s memory?”

All too well.

Between his mother and his brother, Alain had done enough dishonoring of loved ones’ memories to fill a lifetime.

He curled his fingers beneath her chin. “I will speak to the king when he returns to England. He shall not force you to marry Sir Robert or any other Norman. As God is my witness, I promise you that.”

Her eyes widened. “You would do that for me? But surely you don’t stand that highly in King William’s favor?”

“My lady might be surprised to learn how highly.” He released her chin, suppressing the sigh born of the certainty that he could never touch her again. “I would count it a privilege and an honor to perform this service for you.”

“I do know of a way that would ease your conversation with the king, though I doubt it would make either of us happy.” She averted her gaze. “I could wed another man.”

Astonishment prompted him to ask, “Who?”

“My cousin, Thane Ulfric.” She looked at Alain, chafing her arms as if the mere mention of the man’s name had given her a chill. “Second cousin, actually. You met him when you and Ruaud arrived at Edgarburh.”

“I recall the meeting.” And the emotions it had evoked, which he tried to submerge. “But even second cousins cannot marry without possessing the necessary dispensation.”

“He arranged that when he tried to press suit with me a few years ago.” Her laugh cut with a bitter edge. “I’m sure that forging a document to present evidence of our preexisting marriage would give him no trouble.”

No doubt. “But, Kendra, I—” He ran a hand through his hair. How could he tell her he mistrusted her kinsman more than the devil himself? How could he admonish her for wanting to lie about her marital status while he perpetuated his own massive lie? “I just think that marrying Ulfric—or anyone else—is a bad idea.”

HIS STRICKEN look shattered her resolve to remain stoic. “I may not have much choice about that,” she said, stepping closer. “But would my lord knight grant me a boon that would enable me to fulfill an altogether different vow?” She slid her hands up his chest, reveling in the feel of his taut muscles beneath the tunic’s thin linen.

“Name it, my lady,” he said in a husky whisper.

“Please…” She stood on tiptoe to reach around his neck and pull his face to hers, drawing a deep breath. “Please kiss me.”

He lost no time in honoring her request. Their mouths met, tentatively at first, then harder and more ravenously as their mutual hunger found freedom. Their tongues entwined, locked in a dance far more sublime than any pale dream. She felt the void left by her brother’s death beginning, at last, to fill.

So this was why Del had been so insistent that she seek happiness. He knew it would help her heal, God rest his dear soul. She increased the pressure on Alain’s lips, and he answered in kind.

Faint shouts forced them to step apart. Alain looked out the nearest window and hurried to each of the others in turn, muttering in French.

“Is it the outlaws? What do you see?”

“Nothing.” He spat the word as if blaming it for the interruption. “The surviving outlaws must have returned. Does this tower have someplace to hide where they might not think to look?”

“I believe so.”

She snatched the wineskin and food sack and grabbed as many cushions as she could carry. Alain, sword and seax secure at his waist, and similarly burdened at her request, followed her from the chamber.

Chapter 10

E
VEN THROUGH THE tower’s stout walls, the attackers’ commotion sounded louder and more urgent. Kendra all but flew down the stairs; a wonder she didn’t trip on her skirts. Alain wished he’d taken the lead but didn’t have the faintest idea where she planned to hide.

When they reached the lower chamber, she dropped the pillows and provisions in a corner and began shoving aside a chest. He added his supplies to the pile, secured the door’s bolt, and joined her to finish moving the chest. Their actions revealed a small door with a rope handle, which she bade him lift.

It came up after a yank; what he wasn’t prepared for was the whine of a hound and the blast of fetid air. Kendra reached inside her food sack and pulled out several dried beef strips. Rather than dropping them straight down, she lowered herself to her belly and flung the offering into the chamber at an angle. The scrabbling of paws told him the dog had found the food.

“Are you sure this is wise? What if this is the animal reputed to be terrorizing the folk of this shire?”

She twisted her neck to regard him. “Would you rather face whoever is outside?”

He conceded her point. “How much of a drop is it?”

“I don’t know. That’s why I brought those.” She spared a nod for the cushions. “Please throw them down there, along with yon pallet.” She pointed toward the stained, straw-prickled woolen lump in the corner.

Despite his better judgment, he complied. The items vanished into the shaft’s darkness and landed with soft plops.

“I wish we had a torch.” He gazed about the chamber. Given time, he could have fashioned one out of the materials at hand, but a fresh spate of shouts, sounding closer than before, convinced him to abandon the notion. “Sit up, dangle your legs over the edge, and raise your arms. I will lower you down as far as I can.”

She obeyed but gave him an inquisitive look. “You are coming with me, aren’t you?”

“I must defend your escape.”

“I nearly lost you once, and it could have killed me. I’d prefer not to go through that again.” She folded her arms, her expression unyielding. “If you want me down there, you shall have to push me.”

Someone tried the door. Moments later, a rhythmic banging began. Without any way to assess their attackers’ numbers, Alain could not even begin to judge his odds of success or Kendra’s odds of survival, should he be overcome.

The latter thought prompted him to sit beside her, grasping her hand tightly. As one they jumped into the stinking blackness.

SOMETHING WAS jabbing Kendra’s ribs, and something else was panting onto her face.

Alain rolled aside with a grunt, and the poking quit. The hot breath gave way to a wet tongue. She put up a hand to fondle the dog’s ears.

The pounding above continued, and she sat up, assessing her condition. Alain helped her stand.

“If you are all right, we must be away. As soon as they break into the tower”—he glanced toward the hole—“they will know where we’ve gone. Do you know anything about this cavern?”

Kendra shook her head, pressing the back of her hand to her nose to ward off the pervasive smell. She had considered these matters when she had formed her plan, but in spite of the drawbacks, it had seemed to be the best option. Now, with the enemy battering the door, she wasn’t so sure.

She began kicking cushions into the shadows. Alain grabbed the pallet and helped to make short work of the task.

Holding hands, they stretched out their free hands to grope down the corridor, ever mindful of outcroppings and puddles of liquid. After a couple dozen steps, the path branched, with the stench of dog offal and urine much worse to the left. Her heart broke anew for the poor animal, forced to live in its own filth without adequate food, water, light, or exercise. Small wonder it howled so balefully each night.

When she tried to bypass the juncture, Alain stayed put.

“You believe we need to go down there?” The renewed stink obliged her to block her nose again. “I think the fresher air is coming from yon direction.” She waved down the main corridor. “And fresh air may lead to a way out of here.”

“I agree. But I—”

A crash sounded overhead that could mean only one thing.

Alain handed her their wineskin and food, scooped her off her feet, turned, and strode into the offending corridor. His boots squelched in the muck, and she grimaced.

“What—”

Furious barks and growls, mixed with the intruders’ cries of alarm, drowned her protest. Alain bade her to feel for obstructions while he kept to his course, swerving, at her whispered advice, to avoid low-hanging formations. Within a handful of strides, the squelching yielded to the slap of leather on stone. He set her on her feet and nudged her forward.

The human and canine noises in the main corridor, echoing in frightening confusion off the walls of their bolt-hole, convinced her to remain silent. Then it occurred to her why he had chosen this route: no lady would have crossed that filth when the other path seemed to be the better option. She prayed that the outlaws, if they got past the hound, would reach the same conclusion.

Her hands contacted solid rock before her: a dead end. Alain groped around for a few moments and returned to take her hand and pull her beside him, into a narrow recess. She sidled closer and pressed to his body for warmth, she tried to tell herself. Her quickening pulse proclaimed the lie.

The cacophony seemed to draw nearer, and fear sharpened her senses.

One of the echoes sounded like her father’s best scout. But what would bring Lofwin here? Had her father sent him to trail her? But that made no sense; how could Lofwin have known where to pick up her trail, unless—she scarcely dared to hope—unless someone in her escort had survived?

As she cocked her head to sort out the jumbled noises, she felt Alain turn and move as if he intended to return to the main corridor.

She laid a hand on his arm. “Nay,” she whispered, “nay, please, you cannot—”

He disengaged her hand. “I thought I heard Ruaud.”

“Are you certain?” His hesitation spoke volumes. “Alain, please don’t go. It could be your imagination. Or a trap.” She slipped her hand into his and squeezed. The walls felt as if they were closing in on her. Pressing a hand to her chest, she battled the urge to pant. “Please don’t leave me.”

Soon the dwindling voices became impossible to distinguish. She hoped he was having similar trouble.