Suzanne Robinson (13 page)

“Be off with you!”

Macaire laughed and darted through the arras. Fabron held the tapestry in one hand and paused, surveying Galen. Without warning he put his hand over Galen’s heart. Into his eyes came a faraway look, as if he were listening to the whispers
of invisible companions. His hand contorted, twisting in the fabric of Galen’s tunic.

“Marvels and wonders, dear brother.” Then Fabron’s eyes focused on Galen, and he whispered with certainty, “You’re besotted. Lovesick, pale and pining, full of heart’s torment, wan and parlous, simple-witted with desire.”

Galen knocked Fabron’s hand away. “Don’t touch me like that, Fabron. We swore never to use our gifts against one another.”

Fabron was calm in the face of his older brother’s anger.

“I but seek to enlighten. You seem to be thrashing in the dark, floundering in a sea of confusion. Leave the past where it should be—in graves—and open yourself to what is offered.”

His body rigid, Galen said, his voice growing louder, “Get out before I kick you out on your arse.”

The trouble with having a brother who could literally read one’s heart was that he never believed one’s idle threats. Fabron blew a kiss just to annoy him and was gone. Breathing hard, Galen muttered another curse and stalked outside. He walked into the royal garden, past an arbor where a couple sat kissing. He hurried down a path between beds of white roses that seemed to glow in the darkness, and went out the narrow door he’d described to Honor. Now he was outside the walled garden with only moonlight to guide him. His booted foot
found the flagstone path, and he walked down it, attempting to master the foul mood the confrontation with Jennings and his brothers had engendered.

This was exactly why he’d left court. It was inhabited by powerful magnates, their armed companions and adherents, and countless lesser barons. Their shifting loyalties and backroom intrigues sickened him. Worst of all, the court was a hotbed of rumor and backstabbing. Ruthless nobles took advantage of any weakness or disorganization in the royal government to pursue their own ends, and often engaged in outright thievery. Or worse.

It was clear that Honor had become the object of contention among these ruthless men, some of whom—like Isidore Jennings—were as lawless as any highwayman, only with better clothes. This was why women needed the protection of marriage. He didn’t understand why Honor couldn’t see that, choose a new husband and go away. He had to convince her of the logic of this reasoning. If she went to her new husband’s lands, he wouldn’t have to suffer the agony of seeing her without being able to … Best not pursue the thought.

Galen entered the plum orchard, row upon row of fruit-laden trees. Clouds drifted across the moon overhead and sailed on, wraithlike, driven by unseen winds. He’d forgotten how deserted the orchard was at night. Toward the center the trees grew closer together, shutting out the moonlight.
Had Honor been frightened of the blackness? Mayhap not, for she’d skulked about Durance Guarde on blacker nights. But she hadn’t been alone.

At last the clouds drifted away from the moon and he saw her. She was standing beside the stone wishing well in the clearing at the center of the orchard. He toyed with the idea of circling around and coming into the well clearing across from the flagstone path, but discarded the idea. Honor seemed to be angry with him for some new reason, something important enough to cause her to risk speaking to him alone. Frightening her would be rude and mean, and he found himself less and less inclined to be either where she was concerned.

So he left the shelter of the plum trees and walked across the small, flagstone plaza in the center of which lay the wishing well. Honor had been peering into the depths of the well, but when she heard his footsteps she straightened to face him.

“God’s mercy, you were an age. Did that lady with the whitewashed hair detain you?”

“What lady? Oh, Lady Nicolette. No, I was waylaid by my brothers, who wish me to come home. They dislike governing Argent in my absence, the lazy sots.”

Galen joined her at the well and immediately became distracted by the way the moon highlighted her skin with a silver luminescence. He caught his breath and remembered his resolve.

Taking her hand, he brushed his lips across it
and murmured, “I am my lady’s humble servant. You wished to speak to me. You have but to express your wish. I am at your command.”

“Oh!” Honor jerked her hand out of his, scuttled away from him and pounded her fist on the lip of the well. “By my faith, you’re trying to drive me mad so that you can be rid of me, and I—”

“No.”

She looked at him with an expression of astonishment.

“No?” she squeaked.

“No.” Galen ran a hand through his hair. “No. I’m simply trying to find a good man who will protect you. Haven’t you seen it tonight? The vultures are circling, Honor. The Stafford lands aren’t enormous, but they’re passing rich and well situated near Westminster and London. Jennings suspects your vows are a sham. God’s mercy, I don’t think he would let them stand in his way. He’s biding his time, probably hoping to obtain Sir Walter’s complicity in his schemes. I’ve been trying to make you understand this.”

“Liar.” She was sneering. “You went to my father behind my back with your own scheme.”

“Mayhap at first, but I’ve seen too many men looking at you with speculation, and believe me, my lady, their interest has to do with crop yields and florins, not your charms. Now, the king forbids us to consider Rob de Mora, but I know several fine men. There’s the Earl of Raveley, Baron
Wakefield, and Lord Peter Fortescue. Wakefield’s a bit old, but he’s hale, and the other two are good, strong, and kind.” He would have gone on, but Honor stomped her foot and uttered a small roar.

“God give me strength!” She drew herself up to her full height and said, “Stop it. Stop it, stop it. You babble on and on about suitors and marrying me off when all the time you’re working your evil upon me.”

Galen stared at her, bewildered. “You’re not making sense. I’m not working any evil.” By the moonlight he could see her eyes become slits.

“You know what you’ve done,” she said in a deadly tone. “Don’t pretend you haven’t worked some enchantment.”

He spread his arms. “
What
enchantment?”

She wasn’t listening to him. Honor made a fist and beat it against her stomach in a distracted manner. “I can feel it even now. Strange, maddening sensations. And the heat. It crawls through me whenever you appear. I know it’s your doing, because the closer you come, the hotter the flames.”

Galen studied her; indignation and confusion made her seem even more appealing than usual. What did she mean by this talk of crawling heat? Then, in an instant, he understood what she was trying to tell him.

“Damnation and sin,” he said softly. “You really think I’ve worked a spell on you.” He drew nearer, almost laughing, but afraid he’d hurt her if he did.
“My sweet little sunset, what you’re experiencing is desire, unaided by magic of any sort.” He placed his lips close to her ear and breathed the words “Plain, ordinary lust.”

She gasped and jumped back to glare at him in outrage.

“It is not, and you’re an evil-minded, corrupt man to say such a thing.”

Galen laughed and shook his head, then slipped his arm around her waist and drew her to him. Caught off guard, she froze and stared up at him. He dragged her against him so that their lips almost touched.

“If you don’t believe me, I’ll have to prove it to you.”

E
LEVEN
 

H
onor saw galen as a dark shadow against the lighter darkness of the sky. His mouth touched hers lightly, and although he held her against his body, all he did was skim his lips lightly over her cheek to her ear. She caught her breath when his tongue touched her earlobe. His breath invaded and set her blood churning.

In moments she forgot her wrath. Primitive urges whipped around her body when she felt his leg nudge between hers. He pressed her against the side of the well, and his hand slid down her side to caress her hip. Then his hips pressed against hers, and she realized with a jolt what would come next. Pleasure vanished.

“No,” she said in a hoarse voice, and she twisted out of his grasp.

Galen moaned, gripped the well ledge and bent down as if in pain. Honor touched her flaming cheeks and rounded on him.

“There—” Her voice cracked, and she had to start over. “There, you see. Take your devil’s magic away. I demand it.”

Galen was still bent, breathing hard and silent. Finally he turned his head and shook it.

“You won’t? I’ll go to my father. I swear it.”

He held up a hand. “A moment more, I beg you.” Straightening, he turned away from her and seemed to be engaged in some inner struggle.

“Well?” Honor demanded.

Galen faced her, and Honor was confused to see his brow furrowed.

“Honor, my little sunset, did you not experience these same feelings when your husband—that is, in your marriage bed?” He threw up his hands in exasperation. “Didn’t your husband make you feel—” He looked up at the sky. “God’s mercy, I can’t say it.”

Honor was beginning to understand, and she backed away. “I don’t wish to hear more, in any case.”

Galen grabbed her hand to prevent her from leaving.

“No, wait. You must listen to me.”

She tried unsuccessfully to free herself. “I don’t want to listen.”

“It’s for your welfare,” he said, and he grabbed her other hand. Drawing her close, he whispered,
“I give you my solemn oath before God. I’ve used no enchantment on you. I know nothing of such arts. And listen to me, Honor Jennings. What you feel, what I feel, it’s quite ordinary, yet a wondrous gift from God. It is the natural attraction between a woman and a man.”

Thoroughly humiliated by her ignorance, Honor stared at the ground in silence.

“And if Aymer Jennings failed to give this gift to you, it was because he was a selfish, callous bastard.”

“No,” Honor said in a little voice. “It was because I’m not pleasing in appearance or manner.”

“Ridiculous.”

“I have no grace or courtliness, no feminine attractions.” She stopped because he placed his fingers against her lips.

Coming close again, he shook his head gently, removed his fingers and replaced them with his lips. This time she submerged into a dark, hot place that threatened to envelop her completely. She felt his fingers touch her neck and brush her face. Galen lifted his lips and placed his hands on either side of her face.

“God help me, I find you the most fascinating and arousing little termagant in the kingdom.”

“Termagant?” she murmured, her thoughts fuzzy and unfocused.

Galen smiled and traced the line of her brow. His fingers touched the pendant hanging from the chain where it rested on her forehead. Suddenly
he cried out and stumbled back, holding the hand that had touched the sapphire.

“Galen?”

He looked as if he’d taken a destrier’s charge full in the chest. He was breathing hard and cradling his hand. She tried to make him open it, to see what was wrong, but he closed it into a fist so tight she couldn’t move it. In any case, he wasn’t looking at his hand. He was staring over her head at something. She turned to look, but there wasn’t anything there.

Then he began to speak, urgently, as if to someone he could see and she couldn’t. “Beware. No, don’t. Listen to me. There is danger. Behind you.”

“Galen, what ails you?” Honor gripped his arm and tried to get his attention, without success.

Suddenly Galen cried out and sank to one knee, dragging her with him. Honor clutched him or he would have fallen. Uncertain what had come over him, afraid to leave him, she braced her body against his and called his name over and over again. A minute passed, and he gasped. This time his face contorted in an expression of horror.

“Beware!” he cried. “Jennings, look out!”

Frightened, Honor shook him. “Galen, answer me!”

She shook him again, then drew back her hand and slapped him. His head whipped to the side, and when he straightened, the glaze had left his eyes.

He blinked at her. “Honor?” He wet his lips, then he groaned again. “Oh, no.”

“You were possessed by something, Galen.”

He looked around and noticed they were kneeling on the ground, and groaned. “Damnation and sin.” His gaze slid away from hers. “It was a fit. Merely a fit. Had them since I was a boy. Nothing, really. It’s gone now. Forget it, I pray you.”

Honor planted her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side while she studied him. He was shaking and too unsteady to rise. He’d sunk back on his heels and wouldn’t look at her.

“You said something about Jennings.” She thought for a while, then went on. “You acted as if you were seeing something. Galen de Marlowe, you had some kind of vision involving my husband’s family, and I have a right to know what it was. You are a sorcerer after all. I have proof of it now.

“I’m no sorcerer.”

“Then explain yourself.”

“I don’t have to explain.”

He tried to get up, but Honor had to catch him before he fell. She helped him sit, but he tried to get up again. This time she simply pushed him backdown.