Lord of My Heart (28 page)

Perhaps it was this sense of belonging that made it seem the sun shone more brightly, that the air was full of perfume and birdsong. Perhaps that was what made her want to dance and sing.

But it wasn’t. It was the memory of that shared madness and laughter with Aimery.

She was in love. She had first called him lord of her heart in jest, but it was all too true.

It was bittersweet. He had not changed. He’d come to bed cold and breakfasted curtly. The barrier had cracked but been mended, and she still did not know what the problem was.

But she was in love with her husband, which wasn’t all bad. And inside his iron-cold shell there was laughter and fire just waiting to burst free. She would crack that shell if it was the last thing she did.

In the meantime there was still work to do, and it seemed an excellent way to convince him of her honor. As she worked she waited for the evening meal when there might be an opportunity to chip away at his resistance.

That evening the nuns showed their disapproval of Aimery by sitting apart in silence, so the meal passed in the old way with talk of war, weapons, and hunting. Madeleine listened and waited. When the tables were broken down, Geoffrey and Hugh went to join a dice game. Aimery was cool, but he made no immediate move to leave the table. He poured them more wine. “It would be to your advantage to pay more attention to talk of warfare,” he said.

“Why?”

“A convent obviously isn’t the place to raise a chatelaine,” he remarked. “If I am away, you will be in command of the castle, and though Hugh would organize any fighting, he should act at your command.”

“Will you teach me?” she asked eagerly. In truth, it was not so much the knowledge she sought as the time spent with him. Perhaps he recognized it, and that was why he hesitated. But then he rose. “Yes,” he said. “Come outside.”

They passed through the big hall doors into a bailey washed by the red of the setting sun. Most work was done, and those who lived in the castle were relaxing, chatting, or playing games. The villagers were drifting home. One man was whistling.

There was still a long way to go, thought Madeleine, but it was so much better than before. The people had hope.

She ventured a comment. “They seem much happier.”

“They should be. We’re spending a fortune feeding them.” When he looked at her, there was almost a smile on his face.

He abruptly turned serious and strode toward the palisade. Madeleine had to scurry to catch up.

“The palisade and ditch are your main defense,” he said briskly. “It’s old-fashioned and won’t keep out a force of any substance. In such a case you should sue for terms.”

“What kind of terms?”

“As many lives as you can save. Yours above all.” This was said without any trace of sentiment.

“That seems selfish.”

“It’s practical. The fate of the common people won’t be changed by you staying or going. If you win free, you may be able to raise a force to recapture the place, and you won’t be a hostage.”

Aimery climbed up the steep stairs leading to the walkway at the top of the palisade and turned to offer her a hand. Madeleine did not need it, but took it for the touch, brief though it was.

He stood behind her in the narrow space, wide enough for only one man to squeeze past another, and with no rail to prevent a fall into the bailey. A brisk breeze blew her loose hair. He put up a hand to brush it from his face. Feeling his body warm and hard behind her reminded her of the faery prince, his voice, his touch . . .

Madeleine was swamped by longing and closed her eyes, grateful that at least he could not see her weakness.

He cleared his throat. “You’re unlikely to come under attack by a major force,” he said rather gruffly, “and these defenses should deter marauders. The main thing is to keep the ditch free of debris and the land beyond clear of growth. That way no one can sneak up on you. The guards should be able to pick off any attackers with arrows, and they’ll be off to seek an easier target.”

“Such as the village,” Madeleine said with disapproval.

“They’ll raid that no matter what. With any kind of warning, the villagers will be off into the woods or up here for protection. That’s why you have to be sure the watchcorn is alert. You carried a bow at the hunt. How good are you?”

Madeleine turned slightly to look at him. “Dreadful.”

A flicker of humor lightened his face. “Then improve.”

“Am I supposed to beat off invaders single-handedly?”

“It could come to that. But I was thinking we’re going to need a lot of hares for the pot.”

He turned to lead the way off the platform. Madeleine bubbled with optimism. The crack was not completely healed, and the fire within glowed in the evening light.

He guided her over to the small armory and unlocked the door. He took a bow and deftly strung it, then grabbed a handful of arrows and headed outside.

“I hope that’s for you, not me,” she said.

“Of course not. It’s probably a little stronger than you’re used to, but try it.”

Madeleine accepted the weapon reluctantly. “The light’s almost gone. How do you expect me to hit the target?”

“If you’re as bad as you say, I don’t.”

She gave him a look. “If I kill someone, you pay the
wergild
.”

“I pay everything around here anyway,” he said, but lightly. He pointed at the side of the stables. “Hit that.”

Madeleine gave a snort of disgust, drew, and loosed. The arrow thunked high into the log wall, just at the edge of the thatch.

“Well, you hit it,” he remarked. “Just.”

“Yes, I did,” she retorted.
“Just
where I intended to.”

“Did you? Then hit the same spot again.”

Trust him to catch her out. Frowning with the effort, Madeleine tried to repeat her former movements. The arrow sailed up to bury itself in the thatch.

He shook his head. “When you release the string, you’re not supposed to relax your left arm, too.” He came and stood behind her, covering both her hands with his own. “For a short shot, hold your left hand on the target and don’t let it move.” He drew back the string and released it, not letting Madeleine jerk.

Madeleine tried to learn, but she was dizzy from being in his arms. The hard power of his thighs behind hers, the rippling muscles of his forearms before her eyes, were turning her own limbs to water.

He stepped away and handed her another arrow. She fumbled as she notched it, then got a hold on herself. With grim determination she kept her left hand on her first arrow and stiffened her arm until she feared it would break. She let the arrow fly, and it shuddered into the wood only a couple of feet from her target. “Stars and angels!” she exclaimed.

“An improvement. But if that had been a man, never mind a small animal, he’d be no worse for it, would he? I want you to practice every day.”

It was such a brusque command, Madeleine itched to give a saucy answer, but she reminded herself she was proving her honor by perfect behavior. “Very well.”

“And you should be able to defend yourself,” he added. “After dinner tomorrow I’ll teach you some tricks.”

He unstrung the bow and went to put it away. Madeleine saw she had been dismissed, but she returned to the hall in an optimistic frame of mind. The embers were definitely glowing, and they were going to play these games again tomorrow.

It was all falling apart. Day by day he found it more difficult to remember why he must keep Madeleine at arm’s length. He worked himself like a devil so he would sleep at nights and rushed from the bed in the morning before temptation overwhelmed him.

Putting his arms around her this evening had definitely not been a good idea, and yesterday . . .

He laughed at the memory of her shrieks. When he’d seen her rosy with laughter, he’d wanted her with more than lust. She was a witch . . .

But if she was, she was the cleverest witch in Christendom. He’d watched her like a hawk. She was skillful, industrious, patient, kind. She found food in the forest and gave it to the poor. Which was the truth? The cruel, deceitful witch, or the firm and kindly chatelaine? His heart said the latter, but his head demanded caution. She was undoubtedly very clever, and it would not be beyond her to pretend virtue in an attempt to enslave him.

She fumbled through her busy day thinking only of the lesson to come. She couldn’t imagine what Aimery was going to teach her. Swordplay? She’d do her best, but she doubted she’d be able to swing a sword, never mind use it properly.

After dinner he took her not to the bailey, but into the solar. Madeleine looked around in puzzlement. It was the largest private room in the hall but still cramped for any kind of fighting.

He undid his belt. For a horrified moment she thought he was going to beat her, but he just slipped his sheathed knife off the belt and passed it to her. The hilt was beautifully bound with bronze and silver wire, and the pommel was a finely carved amber knob. She slid out the knife, and the blade gleamed wickedly sharp right down to the needle point.

“What do you expect me to do with this?” she asked.

“Kill if necessary.”

Madeleine looked at him and shook her head. “I’m a healer, not a killer. It would be useful for digging things out of wounds, though.”

“Use it that way if you wish, but be prepared to kill with it if necessary.”

“I can’t imagine wanting to kill.”

“Can’t you? What if your life was in danger, or that of a child?” He held her eyes. “What if some man was trying to rape you?”

Madeleine remembered Odo’s attack and admitted there were times for violence. She shrugged. “Teach me what you can, but we’ll not know if I can hurt someone unless the need arises.”

“I have no doubt about it. You’re a healer. You are already trained to hurt people when necessary.”

“That’s different.”

“You’ll find it’s not. Find a comfortable grip. The hilt is doubtless too thick for you. I’ll have something smaller made for you when I can. Your grip should be firm but not rigid . . .”

He worked with her for an hour, mainly pointing out the most effective places to strike.

“Pretend I’m attacking you,” he said at last. “I’m unarmed, and you have a knife.”

Madeleine looked at the vicious knife. “I’m afraid of hurting you.”

He gave a sharp laugh at the notion and began to advance. Madeleine stuck the knife out to hold him off. A feint and he had it off her.

“Never extend your arm like that. You’ve no power left to strike.” He returned the weapon and advanced again.

Madeleine kept her arm bent and closer to her body as he had told her earlier, watching for a chance to stab but still worried she might manage to wound him.

“I’m overconfident.” He sauntered forward. “I don’t think a woman dangerous. You can use that against me. I’m ogling your body instead of watching the weapon.”

He appeared to be, too, which made it hard to concentrate on what she was supposed to be doing. Heavens, if he wanted her body, she was more than willing. Playing along, she thrust her breasts forward and swayed her hips invitingly. She heard him catch his breath and smiled to herself. Perhaps she had weapons she’d never been aware of.

She kept her mind on her lessons, however, and when he casually grabbed for the knife as an unsuspecting man might, she dropped to her knees and drove it toward his thigh.

She was on the ground cradling an aching wrist. The knife lay across the room.

He knelt beside her and took her wrist in an unsteady hand. “I’m sorry. I really did underestimate you. Is it broken?”

She flexed her wrist and shook her head, trying to recreate what had happened. It had been too fast. He must have knocked her hand away. “How did you do that?”

He helped her to her feet, keeping a hand under her arm until he was sure she could stand. “A lifetime of training. But you would have succeeded if I had been as cocksure as I pretended. If you’d hit the right spot, I would have bled to death.”

Madeleine shuddered. “Then I don’t have to do this anymore?”

“Of course you do. There are many more things I can show you, and the stronger you are, the less of a liability you’ll be to me.”

That put the whole thing in a bleak perspective. Had she imagined that moment of power over him?

He went to pour her some wine. Madeleine prepared to flaunt her body in front of him again, her mouth dry with nervousness and longing.

He put the goblet in her hand. “You should probably bind that wrist up,” he said. “I’ll send your woman.”

Then, Devil take him, he was gone.