Warrior's Song (8 page)

And warm wind stolen, part by part,

Your soul through faithless hours.

    Jerval watched her eyes clear, watched the small smile on her mouth. She rose, bowed slightly at the waist, and handed the lyre again to Cecil. Jerval remained still in his chair, not heeding the loud clapping and cheering from the company.

    His eyes met Lord Richard's.

    "She was taught by our minstrel, Elbert. She sings more sweetly than he did, poor fellow. Ah, were you surprised, then, that she sang a song of love?"

    "Yes," Jerval said. "But, withal, she is a woman."

    "Aye, she is."

    Chandra was beside him then, and she said without guile, perhaps even a bit shyly, bringing him firmly back from the dream she herself had created, "Did you like my song?"

    "Perhaps," he said. "A bit more practice, while your hair is being dried, and in ten years or so you will be acceptable outside your own hall."

    She laughed, punched his arm, and sat down beside him. "I like the words, the way they sound to the ear, the way they feel deep inside me."

    "Yes, I did too," he said, and he knew now why Chandra had played. Her father had insisted that she do so. Her father had wanted him to see the passion in her.

    When all of the rush lights had been extinguished, only a spread of candles left to light the way, Jerval said good night to Chandra, lightly touching his fingertips to her cheek, nothing more. He remained in the Great Hall with Lord Richard. He said without preamble, "I believe our two houses must be joined."

    Richard nodded. It was difficult to smile at the beautiful young man standing before him, but he finally managed it.

CHAPTER 8

Sir Mark nearly walked into Mary, grabbed her arms to keep her upright, then bade her a good morning. She stumbled back several steps from him, her face paling, her white hand fisting against her chest. Then she simply turned and slithered back into the chamber she'd just left.

    "Good morning," Chandra called out to him, wondering why he was just standing there, staring at the closed door, his fingers stroking his chin.

    "Good morning," Mark said, adding, surprise in his voice, "She is such a timid girl. I said nothing to alarm her, but she was alarmed nonetheless."

    "Who is a timid girl?"

    "Mary."

    "She has a right to be," Chandra said.

    Mark fell into step beside her. "Why? What happened?"

    She paused a moment, anger at Graelam nearly bursting the words out. Oh, God, she had to keep her mouth shut. No one could ever know. She said, "You're right. She is shy, very shy. I know she meant no offense."

    Mark didn't believe that for an instant, but he was too kind to pry.

    She pulled away then because she saw Jerval in the inner bailey, speaking with her father. They were probably speaking of the Welsh bandits, their last round of bloody raids, the number of men they'd managed to kill, the cattle they'd stolen— just like the Scottish raiders, she thought, who plagued Camberley to the north.

    Yes, they were speaking of strategy. They were speaking of how best to attack the bandits, whether or not it would be worth their while to take prisoners for ransom.

    Jerval said, "I will teach her what it means to be a woman."

    Richard said, "Since I have taught her the ways of men, I suppose it is right that her husband teach her the ways of a woman."

    Although the words came out smoothly enough, it was an effort for Richard to actually say them. Jerval teach her to be a woman? This damned man who was far too young, far too inexperienced to know anything about how to treat a woman? Ah, but that was the point. He was young, strong, bursting with life and health. The thought of him with Chandra, knowing her in ways Richard never could, rubbed and grated, even tore at him, deep down, but he knew there was no other way. She was his daughter, of his flesh, and there was no changing that.

    He remembered clearly the day some five years ago when Chandra had run to him, her face white, sobbing low behind her fist. It had taken him a while to finally get her to admit to him that she was bleeding. She believed she was dying. She hadn't done anything. Please, Father, she hadn't. She swore it on Father Tolbert's Bible. And now she was bleeding to death and it wasn't fair. She had always come to him, never to Dorothy, and now, he understood why Chandra hadn't gone to her. He remembered he had tried, carefully, and with some tact, since he loved her and didn't want to frighten her, to explain what the bleeding meant.

    She hadn't liked what he'd told her. Actually, he couldn't say that he would particularly like it for himself either. And when her breasts began to grow, she had bound herself tightly, ashamed of them because the boys didn't have them, and hunched her shoulders forward to hide them. It was Egbert, the minstrel, who had achieved the impossible. He had convinced Chandra when she was fifteen finally to wear gowns. Her hunched shoulders suddenly straightened, and to Richard's profound relief, she seemed to come to enjoy dressing up for their guests and having her incredible hair brushed to her waist until it gleamed in the candlelight. Now she made the transition from boy to lady gracefully.

    He knew that he had kept her with him overlong, knew he had, by his own hand, formed her brilliantly. He sighed. He had to admit that he had misformed her as well. She still did not understand compromise, but she was young. Learning to compromise would come. Married to Jerval, she would have to learn to bend. And if she didn't? No, he wouldn't consider that. Compromise was nothing compared to the qualities she held in the deepest part of her. Thank God that Jerval de Vernon appeared to both understand and accept her the way she was. Even though he was too young to know much of anything.

    Richard said now, "Avery tells me that a ship from France has just put in to the harbor. Why don't you join me and see the wares the captain has to offer? Perhaps you will find something your bride will like."

    Chandra was sitting cross-legged on a grassy patch above the promontory looking out over the sea, chewing on a blade of grass. It was early afternoon. The sun, finally, was bright overhead, and warmed the earth on which she sat. She felt the sun warm her all the way to her bones and was content. It was the sort of day that didn't demand that she do much of anything. She turned her head at Wicket's whinny and saw Jerval atop Pith, riding at a gallop toward her up the rocky slope. She felt a rush of pleasure to see him. He and her father had left so quickly, she hadn't even had a chance to bid him a good morning.

    But now he was here. She'd realized almost at once that with her, he wasn't coarse in the manner of her father's men. He never boasted on the exercise field, except of course with her, and that was merely good-natured jesting. He would yell in a man's face when he failed at a task through inattention, but he was fair. Aye, he was always fair, both in his praise to his men and in his punishments.

    There was much joke-telling and laughter among the men when he was about. She smiled toward him, admiring the fall of his simple white woolen tunic and the strength of his hands on his destrier's reins. His golden hair, thick and curling at his neck made her think again, a lurch of pain passing through her, that he should have been her father's son. Fate hadn't dealt kindly with Lord Richard. Jerval wasn't her brother— nothing could change that— but he was a man she admired, a man she very much liked. It wasn't his fault that he looked like Lord Richard.

    Jerval dismounted and walked to her, tall, strong, the sun shining down on his gleaming hair. When he saw her looking up at him, he smiled.

    By all the saints, he thought, staring at her, she was a glorious creature. Soon she would belong to him, every thought in her head, every white inch of her body, every word out of her mouth.
His.
She would belong to him, to no other man ever. He looked away from her because he wanted to leap on her, and he knew, knew all the way to the soles of his feet, that it was too soon, that with all her skills, all her talents, she was appallingly ignorant in the ways of men and women. It didn't make particular sense, but it was nonetheless true. He said, "Mark told me you rode up here."

    Chandra patted the grassy ground next to her, and to her surprise, for just an instant, he hesitated before he dropped to sit beside her.

    She remembered that Mark had seen Mary's fear and wondered at it. She must speak to Mary, warn her, urge her not to flinch away whenever a man came near her. "I was just thinking about you," she said. "How much longer will you stay at Croyland?"

    When would he face it? Jerval wondered. When would he tell her what he wanted of her? Soon, he knew, when he felt the time was right. He said easily enough, "My father set no limit. Why? Do you wish me to leave?"

    "Sometimes."

    "I don't like the sound of that."

    "No, it's not what you're thinking." She shrugged, as if it weren't all that important, but he knew that it was.

    "Tell me," he said. "Tell me what I'm not thinking."

    "I really don't want to, but you will keep at me, won't you?"

    "Aye."

    "All right. It's just that you are a man, but you are also much more than that. I find you amazing. You can do everything and you do it well. You are fair. You always know what to say, what to do. Even if one of your men doesn't perform at something all that well, you do not stint with your praise on what he did do right, or on your encouragement— and you manage to remain honest. Well, usually."

    He couldn't believe she thought that highly of him. He was amazing? Fair? He always knew what to say, to do? Surely she must love him to see him through such blind eyes. She shrugged again, but he was content to wait. She said, "I do things well, but never will I be like you. I do try to treat people well, but I'll tell you— if there is a single way to offend, I will find it, very quickly. You do not."

    He was staring at her, couldn't help himself. He was still stunned at her words, words spoken passionately. "Do you truly see me like that?" His heart was now beating slow and hard.

    "Aye. You are so like my father."

    Well, damn. Finally, he said, "I'm glad you see me in such a good way."

    She shrugged. "You are you. There is no other way to see you. You are good. It's true, sometimes I wish I could be you."

    "Believe me, I am very glad you are not a man, that you are nothing like me. You are, to be honest here, perfect just as you are right this very moment."

    "You say that only because I have praised you, but nonetheless, I will accept that I am perfect, at least right now."

    He wanted to bite her lower lip, then lick it. By all the saints' sweaty palms, it was nearly too much. "I brought you something from the captain's ship."

    He handed her a small cloth-wrapped package.

    Slowly she pulled the soft protecting wool apart, her fingers trembling just a bit. "I love presents," she said when she saw him grinning at her. "I have always thought that to be by yourself in a small room, surrounded by piles of presents— nothing could be better than that."

    "How about also having the person with you who gave you all the presents so he could see your face as you opened them?"

    "Oh yes, that would be quite fine. But such things don't ever happen. If I can have only part of my fantasy, then I will take the presents."

    "I would as well. I hope you like it. I saw you in my mind's eye when the captain held it out for me to look at."

    It was a gold necklace, three intertwined gold chains, beautifully formed, weaving in and out of each other. There were three black pearls set deep in the gold, dark, mysterious, incredibly beautiful. It felt wonderful to spill the gold over her hands, feeling the warmth of the pearls against her flesh. Still she didn't say anything.

    "Do you like it?"

    She looked at him then. "It is beautiful. I have nothing like it. I have never seen anything so lovely as this." And to his astonished pleasure, she leaned into him and threw her arms around him, squeezing his neck until he wondered if he'd choke.

    She kissed his cheek, her breath warm and sweet, and he could taste her excitement and her pleasure. If he hadn't already been sitting, it would have dropped him to his knees. Then she was laughing and pulled her braid off her neck. "Put it on me, please. Oh, it is so lovely. Thank you, Jerval."

    And he fastened the lovely necklace around her neck, then let her turn to face him. She was waiting to hear what he would say, and for a moment, he simply couldn't find the right words, couldn't find any words really. He just wanted to kiss her mouth— no longer chapped, he saw— kiss every bit of her and know all the way to his soul that she was his. He cleared his throat. "I chose well. With a gown, you will look like a mysterious princess, hiding her thoughts, keeping secrets close. Though to be honest, I think you would look beautiful wearing nothing at all. Show me again how much you like it. Kiss me, Chandra."

    She was still laughing, so pleased with him, with the necklace, with the feel of it around her neck, the weight against her chest, that she kissed him once, twice, even yet again, this time very close to his mouth.

    Then she jumped to her feet. "Oh, my, I must show my father. He will believe you more thoughtful than Father Tolbert, who always takes great care to praise father's generosity and care of all his lands and people in his sermons."

    Generous? Care of all his people? Lord Richard? Now that was a thought. Jerval had seen one of the maids slipping out of Lord Richard's bedchamber early that morning when he had risen to relieve himself. She had looked tousled, and when she saw him, she'd grinned widely before lowering her eyes and hastily smoothing her gown. In matters of sexual appetite, he thought, Lord Richard was very generous indeed, very caring, endlessly so. To be fair, though, Lord Richard was a fine liege lord, his lands well tended, his people well protected.

    "No, I have changed my mind. I will show the necklace later to my father. Now I will reward your kindness. It is so warm, I will take you swimming. Come, Jerval. There's a small lake in the middle of the forest. You will like it."

    He felt a leap of pleasure, but it was swiftly gone. "Wait! Swim? As in get wet? But what will you wear to swim?"

    "A shift, of course. Why?"

    A linen piece of cloth that might come to the middle of her thighs, a piece of cloth that would, once wet, leave nothing left unseen. Oh, God. That damned rock lying beside his right hand wasn't as hard as he was now. "And what about me?"

    "I have seen naked men, Jerval," she said patiently, "from the time I was five years old and finally realized there was a difference. You can strip to your skin if you wish."