Knight's Caress (25 page)

The water seemed to restore Wick’s strength some. “In the woods, my lord, living from hand to mouth.”

“And Wulfgar? What of him?”

“I know not where he is. I’ve not seen him for some days.” A warm smile enveloped Wick’s mouth. “I’m pleased to find ye alive, my lord. These Normans have been good to ye?”

“Aye, in their way.”

“And ye’re married to Lady Amberlie?”

Tedric nodded.

“Good, good, that’s how it should be.”

Tedric could tell that Wick was growing tired. Just at that moment, Amberlie entered the room with Gundred and Tedric started to withdraw, knowing the women needed to tend their patient. But he touched Amberlie’s hand as she stood next to him in the tiny room. This was the first time he’d touched her since the night of the attack on the way to Woodrose. “Gundred shall sit the night with Wick,” he told her, and gently squeezed her fingers. “You have other duties which need your attention.”

Immediately, he noticed her blush, but there was a look of desperation, even fear, on her face which he didn’t understand and had never seen before. What was wrong with her? he wondered. Why did she no longer welcome his kisses and caresses? What had happened to turn her away from him so entirely? The woman was an endless mystery to him.

Later, Amberlie waited in her chamber for Tedric to appear. She stood with outstretched hands before the hearth, trying to dispel the chill in the room. No matter that she wore an emerald velvet dressing robe for warmth, it did little to relieve the cold which had settled upon her. She knew why she was chilled to her very marrow, why her heart thumped hard within her chest. Tedric intended to assert his husbandly rights.

They hadn’t given in to their passion for weeks, not since their first night at the royal palace. That night would be forever etched in her memory; she would never forget it, no matter how she might try.

She shivered, a horrible feeling of dread rushing over her. Even now, she glanced around the room, half expecting to see Henri’s spirit again. Henri had been very real; she knew what he wanted of her. How could she avenge Henri’s death when she was married to the very man who had killed him? How could she harm the man who gave her such pleasure? She couldn’t tell anyone what she’d seen, not even Tedric. People would believe she was mad.

Lost deeply in her whirling thoughts, she didn’t hear Tedric enter the room, and had no idea he was there until he came up behind her and placed his arms around her waist. “You look so beautiful with the fireglow on your face,” he said. “Your skin is golden and so smooth.” His hand lightly traced her jawline, and he turned her in his arms.

His eyes were dark and molten. She felt herself being pulled into his gaze, drawn by his passion. When Tedric’s hand cupped her breast to toy with the nipple through the velvet, she moaned in pleasure. It had been so long since he’d touched her like this, so long that she’d almost forgotten how wonderful it felt. As if this was the signal he sought, Tedric lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. His mouth moved over her lips in a kiss that left her weak and clinging to his shoulders.

“I want you, Amberlie, I want you so much,” he whispered in her ear, and removed her robe. His fingers played lightly over her breasts, his lips finding a nipple and taking it deeply into his mouth, eliciting another moan from her. How wonderful it felt as he suckled, how weak-willed she was to enjoy it!

“Avenge me, avenge me.” She heard Henri’s voice so clearly that she stiffened beneath Tedric’s questing hands and mind-drugging mouth.

“No, no, stop!” she cried, and wasn’t certain if she meant for the voice to cease or for Tedric to leave her alone.

Tedric lifted his head from her breast. “Am I hurting you?”

He had never hurt her, but maybe it would have been better if he had. Things would have been so much simpler if she could hate him. Shivers coursed through her, and she imagined that Henri watched and condemned her for reveling in his killer’s touch. She had never believed in spirits, but now she did, for she’d seen and heard one. And he wasn’t pleased. “I—I can’t do this—I mustn’t—”

“What in the name of heaven is wrong with you?” Tedric asked as a question, but it was really a shout of utter frustration. “You’re my wife. I want to make love to you.”

She lay there with her breasts bared to him, fear in her eyes, not only because of Henri, but because she knew now why Henri was so adamant that he be avenged. She was falling in love with her own husband, and she feared this worse than Henri’s ghost. To save him, she must make him hate her. “I don’t want you to touch me—ever again,” she desperately proclaimed.

He looked at her as if she were mad. One moment she’d been writhing in pleasure, and now she regarded him with loathing on her face. Tedric hadn’t a clue as to what was wrong with her, but she was pushing him beyond endurance. “I could take you by force if I wanted. As your husband, I have the right.”

She knew he’d never force her, and she also knew how to stop him from wanting her. Opening her legs wide, she gave him a bitter smile. “Go on then. I shall not fight you, but neither will I respond. I pray you, just get it over with quickly.”

There was something in her face, a coldness in her voice which settled the matter for him. He knew she didn’t want him. Somehow things had changed between them, but when he didn’t know. Or had things always been this way? A lance-like pain twisted inside him because he knew now that he’d lost her. But had he ever truly possessed anything other than her body? Right now he doubted if she even had a heart.

“I will spare you a fate worse than death, my lady.” Slowly, he rose from the bed and stood looking down at her. Slivers of ice replaced the heat in his eyes. “May you pass a good night in your lonely, cold bed.” He reached for his mantle from the chest and twirled it about him, striding toward the door. Without turning once to see the tears sliding down her cheeks, he slammed the door behind him.

Tedric didn’t return to their bed that night or the next. For two miserable days Amberlie  pretended an indifference to the man which she was far from feeling. But every time she saw him, her heart speeded up and her palms perspired. Was this love? she wondered, and realized yes, it was. She knew now that she loved Tedric, the knowledge having come to her on the night he made love to her in the royal palace. Or had she loved him all along and simply not known it? Either way, her feelings didn’t matter now. She’d succeeded in driving Tedric away, in getting him to believe she truly hated him.

She’d avenged herself upon him for Henri’s death by her hateful words and lack of physical response. But where was the sweet taste of vengeance? All she felt was its sting.

Lady Mabel was coldly polite, speaking to her only when Amberlie asked her a question. No doubt the woman already knew Tedric had left their bed, and was more than disapproving of her. In fact, Amberlie realized everyone in the keep knew she slept alone. She’d overheard two women speaking in the storeroom as she tended Wick in the next room. “Well, of course it would come to this. Lord Tedric didn’t give her a morning gift, so Lady Amberlie is a poor wife,” one of the women said as if she had firsthand knowledge of their private moments.

“Aye,” agreed the other one. “And a man puts aside a cold woman for a warm one. And we both know who she be.” They both laughed. Amberlie colored fiercely as she spooned broth into Wick’s mouth for she knew very well who they meant.

“My lady, may I speak?” Wick asked with a solemn expression on his face.

“Of course. What is it?” She held the spoon aloft.

“Lord Tedric don’t love any lady but ye, no matter what tales ye hear.”

If only she could believe that, but she didn’t. No matter, nothing would change their situation. They were from different lands, their customs strange to each other. Tedric didn’t love her for he’d humiliated her by not giving her the morning gift, and she could never truly love a man who was capable of murder—at least, she’d thought that until recently. But always Henri would be between them, preventing her from giving her heart to Tedric. No, too much stood between them, and Glenna was the least of it.

“Open, Wick, and swallow,” she said, ignoring the man, though she knew he meant only to comfort her. “We must get you well again.”

~
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~

Julianne clutched the tiny pouch within her hand, her palm perspiring with her eagerness. The time had arrived to avenge herself upon Tedric, to make him pay for the crime he’d committed. Before this day was over, the barbarian would be dead. The very thought of Tedric’s death caused a bright smile to light up her usually solemn face.

Baudelaire had done well. He’d brought her the plant and berries she’d wanted. She’d spent half of the previous night in her chambers using a small pestle to grind the berries, adding pieces of the leaves for good measure, into a fine powder. The substance possessed an unpleasant smell, but she hoped that once it dissolved into wine, the smell would disappear. Now to dispense it into Tedric’s wine—and wait.

She made it to the great hall, earlier than usual for the evening meal. Just as always, the wine goblets were already filled and waiting beside each person’s trencher on the dais. Since he was lord of the keep, Tedric’s goblet was the largest and most elaborate in design. And the hall was empty, as her luck would have it. A sure sign that heaven was on her side, Julianne decided, and brazenly walked toward the spot where Tedric would soon sit. Carefully, she opened the pouch and emptied the reddish contents into the scarlet liquid, dissolving the powder with her index finger. Jubilation engulfed her. As she turned toward her own seat, a huge grin split her lips in two, but she faltered for a moment to see Guy watching her. He stood just inside the arched doorway with his arms folded casually across his chest. A knowing smirk lifted the edges of his mouth.

“What are you doing, dear sister?”

Seeing him took Julianne aback. But Julianne knew that Guy hated Tedric almost as much as she. Instead of sheepishly backing down, or pretending that she was doing nothing out of the ordinary, Julianne proudly squared her shoulders. “I’m doing what you should have done long ago.”

“Taking care of our common problem, I trust.”

“Someone must.”

“But I have a plan already in motion,” he cryptically informed her. “However, yours is more swift.”

“And more deadly, I assure you.”

“You’ve always been more craven than I, Julianne.”

She took that as a compliment, and took her place on the dais, content to watch and wait.

~
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~

The meal progressed with the usual bounty. Amberlie, however, found she was unable to eat more than a few mouthfuls, though the roasted goose was delicious. Over the last few days her appetite had dwindled, and she hoped she wasn’t coming down with the stomach upset that had plagued some of the serfs that week.

A strange silence hung heavily over the great hall, almost as if a thick curtain had descended to block out all sound. Everyone knew there was a tenseness between herself and Tedric. No one spoke on the dais unless it was to order a cup or trencher refilled. Neither did the knights tell ribald jokes, or jostle one another good-naturedly, and as soon as they finished their meals, they quickly left the hall. The serfs went about their tasks on silent feet, careful not to make noise even when they cleared the trestle tables.

Amberlie cast a glance in Glenna’s direction, believing the woman’s face would beam with smug satisfaction now that Tedric no longer shared his wife’s bed. To Amberlie’s surprise, Glenna looked as downcast as everyone else.

Well, not everyone, Amberlie realized. Julianne didn’t resemble her usual glowering self. The woman actually smiled a number of times, though no one had spoken to her. Guy seemed nearly as complacent as he lounged on the bench and directed a friendly nod to Amberlie.

Tedric was the most ill-humored, grunting instead of answering whenever a serf asked if he needed his wine goblet refilled, wolfing down his food so he wouldn’t be forced to suffer Amber- he’s presence for longer than was necessary. He’d behaved this way since the night he’d left their chamber. His time was spent among the knights, especially with Sir Flaubert, with whom he discussed the rebuilding of the keep. Though Tedric was Saxon by birth, an instant friendship had been formed between himself and many of the Norman knights, once they’d begun to get over their mutual distrust. Some of the knights were still uncertain, still mistrusting of him, but for the most part they obeyed him. Even Guy, or so it seemed.

But that day there had been some unrest among a handful of knights who’d questioned Tedric’s ability to lead them, causing a further darkening of Tedric’s mood. Baudelaire had questioned his loyalty to their king. Ever honest, Tedric had answered that he was as loyal to William as any Saxon in a similar position could be. The answer had appeased most, but not all. Tedric now wondered if he should have lied and proclaimed his undying devotion and loyalty to William. All he’d need now would be an uprising among the knights when his private life was unraveling.

He clutched his goblet with one hand and downed his second helping of wine. The first had tasted bitter, but this one was much sweeter and more aromatic. He’d have refilled the goblet again, but for some reason his stomach felt queasy and his mouth burned.

“Tedric, my lord, are you all right?” Amberlie looked at him in concern, the first words she’d spoken to him in days.

“Aye, woman, I am fine!” He sounded abrupt and icy, and was pleased to see her wince from the chill in his voice.

“You don’t look well. Perhaps you should lie down.”

“And where should I lay my weary head, my lady? In your bed? If I recall, I received only cold company there.” He noticed that she flushed, her eyes downcast. Good, he thought, she regretted what she’d done, but he wouldn’t crawl back to her. First, she’d have to beg him, though he was literally aching to know that she wanted him again. He hated himself for still desiring this cold-hearted wench who detested him.

He realized what a truly unhappy man he was. Though William had spared his life and returned his lands to him, nothing was more important than love. Oh, not that he was in love with Amberlie; he quickly put that thought from his mind, for to love such a woman would mean his destruction. But he lusted after her. There were other women who’d share his bed but strangely, he didn’t want any woman but Amberlie.

God, but his stomach hurt! His insides burned painfully, and he felt horribly nauseated. He needed air. Lurching to his feet, he accidentally knocked Amberlie aside on the bench, but was in too much of a hurry to see to her well-being as he left the hall in great physical distress.

“The man is a beast!” Guy proclaimed, and rushed to Amberlie’s  aid.

Amberlie righted herself, but her concern was for Tedric. “Something is wrong with my husband. I have to see to him.” Guy clamped down upon her hand when she rose to her feet.

“Stay inside. Tedric can care for himself. I doubt any thing’s wrong with him.” His eyes pleaded with her, but Amberlie loosened his hold and immediately fled the hall for the bailey.

The chilly evening breezes enveloped her in a rush of air. At first, she didn’t see Tedric as she searched the empty courtyard. A noise behind her drew her attention, and she turned to see Glenna, instantly begrudging the woman’s presence. “Lady Mabel wished me to see if Tedric might be ill,” she offered by way of explanation, and Amberlie wondered why she felt she needed to tell her anything. Such a courtesy from Glenna was unusual.

Calling Tedric’s name, Amberlie began to search in earnest. Glenna followed behind her. It was when they neared the stables that Amberlie saw him, huddled over on the ground, his hands clenching his stomach. “Tedric! Whatever is wrong with you?” She touched his brow but found it cool. However, his face was pasty white.

“My body—I am on fire inside.”

“I’ll get help,” Glenna offered, and immediately she ran into the stables to see if someone might aid them. Luckily, Christophe was the one she found. Christophe carefully lifted Tedric to his feet. But Tedric was a large man and Christophe doubted he could move him without more help.

“I need others to help lift you,” Christophe told him, but Tedric shook his head.

“Nay, ‘twill be a sign of weakness … to get help. I will … walk into the keep … will walk.”

“Tedric, please,” Amberlie pleaded. “No one will think any less of you—”

“I … will … walk,” he ground out from between his teeth, and somehow made it into the keep on Christophe’s guiding arm with Amberlie leading the way. Amazingly, he managed to get up the stairs, though the pain was excruciating. Amberlie threw open the door to their chamber, and flung back the pelt on their bed seconds before Christophe helped ease Tedric onto the mattress.

Amberlie loosened his tunic and removed it with Christophe’s help, while Glenna provided a wet cloth for Tedric’s face. Never had Amberlie seen anyone look so ghostly pale or writhe in such torturous pain. Instinctively she knew Tedric’s ailment was much more serious than a stomach grippe. In her mind she recalled the leather pouches in the medicine room, and she knew she had nothing to cure such a strange malady. “Fetch Gundred,” she told Glenna. “Get her now.”

Glenna nodded, her eyes wide, and did as Amberlie bid her. Christophe remained, and removed Tedric’s boots. “My lady?” he hesitantly asked. “Do you think Lord Tedric suffers from the fever?”

“I don’t know.” Amberlie worriedly bit down upon her lower lip, fearful that an outbreak of fever, or even a rumor of fever, could be tragic for all of them. “Say nothing to anyone about this, please, not until we know for certain. But I don’t believe Tedric has fever—’tis something else.”

When Magda appeared with Lady Mabel, Amberlie allowed them into the room. Mabel sat upon the bed beside Tedric and held a bowl in front of his face when Tedric started to vomit. “‘Tis a good sign,” Mabel contended. “A very good sign.”

Amberlie wiped Tedric’s face with the cloth. “‘Tis sick I am, my lady,” Tedric whispered, and she knew he was humiliated for her to see him so helpless.

“You’ll be better soon. Just try to rest.”