The Shattered Rose (45 page)

When she found Galeran in the hall, she said as much.

"You overestimate my charity," he said, as he helped her to a bench near an open window. "I hope he's in agony, and that there will be worse for him in the future."

They smiled with the easy understanding once taken for granted, now deeply appreciated.

"About Raoul . . ." she said.

"... and Aline," he completed with a humorous grimace.

"What are we to do?"

"Turning matchmaker?"

"Why not? Marriage is a wonderful institution."

Again, their smiles danced together, and they spoke silently of other things entirely.

"I suppose Raoul didn't handle things well," said Galeran.

"An understatement! But Aline is sensible to have reservations, no matter what honeyed words he tempts her with."

"His word is true," said Galeran sternly. "That was the problem. He won't make a vow he cannot keep."

She reserved comment on that. "Is there any hope for them, then?"

"We'll have to see. But I have one thought I'd like your verdict on."

"Yes?"

"I don't think Hubert of Burstock will be best pleased to have his only daughter married off without his leave. We'll have to take them back home to be wed."

"Oh, poor Raoul! Back to the harsh north."

"And we're moving toward autumn. We'd better provide him with furs."

And they laughed together at simple human foibles.

Chapter 22

When the first gift came, Aline was sitting in the room she shared with Jehanne, Winifred, and the baby. Hiding, really. She didn't want to see Raoul. She didn't like the amused look in everyone else's eyes. This situation was not the slightest bit funny.

A servant entered carrying a prettily carved wooden box just the size of the palm of her hand. When she opened the domed lid, she found an exquisite sprig of blossoms. For a moment she thought it was real, but when she touched a leaf she found it was metal colored green, and the blossoms were carved out of ivory. Accompanying it was a message, so beautifully written that he must have hired a scribe:
As beautiful as the almond blossom.

The only thing she'd seen similar to this was the rose Jehanne owned, the one with the petals that kept falling off. This was a finer piece, though. Had he just found it, or had he stood over a craftsman all day and night as it was created to his order?

It was a marvel, but sadly, it didn't change anything. She knew he was devoted to her now, but she had seen devoted couples grow apart. Sometimes love dies entirely, and in such times friends and family are the only comfort and protection. She knew, too, that a bride far from all she knows is in a perilous position.

She could not help but go show the pretty ornament to Jehanne, however. She found her cousin in the hall with Galeran, laughing as they had in the old days. For a moment she felt a bitter stab of jealousy, for if she could not have Raoul, there would be no other to laugh with like that.

"How lovely." Jehanne touched a blossom with one careful finger, then smiled up at Galeran.

"Indeed," said Galeran. "Take care of it, Aline. Such treasures can be broken." Though he addressed Aline, his eyes never left his wife's.

"And mended," Jehanne murmured.

Aline overrode their byplay. "I won't be swayed by gifts."

"Of course not," said Jehanne, turning to her. "But you might consider what they say of the man."

"That he's not penny-pinched?"

"No bad thing in a husband, surely."

Suddenly thoughtful, Aline put her gift in a safe place and went off in search of Lord William. At least she could try to sort out practical matters. She found him in the storeroom discussing wine storage with Hugo, and eventually managed to get him away for a deep and detailed discussion about dower property. Having handled that, she moved on to ways of protecting a woman in a foreign land.

He rubbed his bristly chin, eyes twinkling. "I'd been thinking along the same lines, my dear. In fact, Raoul reminded me that Hugo is a relative of his. That there are many links between Guyenne and England. Letters pass between Bordeaux and London regularly. And we did discuss establishing a trade link to Stockton."

"Reminded you recently?"

"Just this morning."

Aline returned to her hiding place in the sleeping chamber to take out the ivory almond blossom and ponder. Had Raoul raised the subject of links and letters on purpose? If there were letters, she would not feel so cut off from home, and if there were regular trade to a port near her home, it would be even better.

More importantly, as Jehanne had pointed out, she had to think what all this said of the man. Perhaps he was not just trying to turn her head with pretty gifts, but trying to deal with her reasonable fears.

Hope beginning to stir, Aline ventured out to help Mary in her kitchen, where she was supervising the stewing of rabbits for the midday meal. Aline managed to bring the talk around to France and Guyenne. She soon established that Hugo himself traveled to Bordeaux once a year, and that he had interests in three ships that regularly visited that port.

Guyenne was suddenly not quite so far or strange a place.

When everyone gathered for the midday meal, however, she could not bring herself to look at Raoul, never mind smile at him. She suspected she was almost won over, but she still had a few doubts, and it wouldn't be right or fair to imply otherwise.

And anyway, she admitted to herself, she wanted to see what he would do next.

What he did was leave.

The next day, Raoul de Jouray was gone, with no word as to his whereabouts.

Aline felt a frantic urge to run into the streets searching for him, but there was no point. He'd taken his horses and his two men. Perhaps he'd decided he couldn't marry a woman not willing to trust him mindlessly, and sailed back to France.

He'd left most of his clothes, though. Surely he must be coming back.

Lips quivering, Aline told herself that if he'd left, he'd merely proved her right. He didn't truly desire her and was incapable of constancy. The thought gave her no comfort at all, but now she refused to hide.

If he came back, he would not find that she'd been pining.

* * * * *

Jehanne watched Aline set violently precise stitches in a gown edging, and murmured to Galeran, "Where has he gone?"

Galeran had Donata lying on his lap, clutching his two fingers. "I don't know."

"Is he coming back?"

"He didn’t say."

"If he doesn't, someone should seek him out and kill him."

Galeran just grinned. "Then it'll have to be you, love. I'm for home and peace."

* * * * *

Two days later Aline-—still militantly acting as normal— was crossing the courtyard to the smokehouse to choose smoked fish for Mary, when she was captured and swung into the dim granary.

Held tight with her back to a rock-hard body, she knew who it was by instinct before logic told her, and by instinct her body heated.

But if the wretched man thought terrifying her like that would sway her . . .

Strange, bulbous objects appeared before her eyes.

A second later, focusing, she realized they were grapes, held in his hand. She'd never actually seen a bunch of grapes, but Hugo had some carved into a lintel, and had been happy to tell her of them.

"Not from Guyenne, alas," he whispered into her ear. "But there are vineyards in some parts of this benighted country."

"They look like gooseberries."

He chuckled. "And would taste like them, I fear. They need quite a few weeks more to be at their best, and then they would taste nothing like the grapes of Guyenne." Somehow, without letting her go, he nuzzled around to kiss the corner of her mouth. "For the grapes of Guyenne are plump, sweet, and juicy, just like you."

Though she knew she shouldn't, she turned her head a little so her lips were more accessible to him. She was struggling not to cry with relief.

He hadn't gone.

He hadn't given up the siege before she had a chance to surrender. She'd known for days that she wanted to surrender, but if he planned to woo her some more, she certainly wasn't going to object.

"Thank you for the flower," she murmured, her mouth moving against his.

"Is this kitchen love, then? Just gratitude?"

She thought of protesting the word
lave,
but then let it lie. It was true. "I'm trying to see beyond the gift."

She turned just a little farther, so her lips were almost entirely available to him.

He completed the alignment and kissed her quickly, but openmouthed. "And what do you see, my Jimena?"

His Use of that name set her heart fluttering. "A man who seems to want me very much indeed. I'm not sure why."

His brows rose. "Do you doubt that you are worthy of love?"

"No."

"Then why question it?"

Because I worry that whatever draws me to you might fade, and then where would I be?

Abandoned, in the vineyards of Guyenne.

After a moment, she found the courage to tell him her fears.

He leaned back a little to study her. "Aline, Aline! Why would you think such a thing? How can your nature, your self, your spirit, ever fade? These, above all, are what I love."

She couldn't think what to say, because she didn't entirely believe him. Oh, she believed he spoke the truth as he saw it, but was it the truth of his heart?

He let go of her, placing the bunch of grapes in her hands, and opened the pouch at his belt to extract a vial. "Water," he said. "There is no sierra in England to hold the snows of winter, but I found a place where the water rises pure and cool from the chalky downs." He took out the stopper and tasted some. "It is very like. Taste, Aline. It is as pure as my love for you."

She let him put the vial to her lips and tip it so a little pure water ran onto her tongue. "It is good," she said, licking a trace from her lips, realizing that he had searched southern England for these items for her. Like El Cid undertaking quests to win his Jimena.

"And," he said, looking into her eyes, "if you want a year to think about this, I will be faithful to you for that year. Even though it'll probably ruin me for life."

She bit her lips, fighting a giggle that she knew would be like a flag of surrender.

"So," he asked, and something in his eyes told her he wasn't fooled. "What else do you want, my lady fair? The pelt of a white bear? Sugar crystals from the East? Rubies from Asia . . . ?"

Aline looked down and plucked a green grape off the bunch, lifting it to her lips to taste it. Then she spat it out. "It's
worse
than gooseberries!"

"Aline . . ."

"But just unripe, you said. In time it will be sweet. I was unripe, Raoul. Even a few days ago I was still green and sour. I think I'm growing riper and sweeter by the day.. .."

"Aline," he said in a different tone entirely, reaching for her.

But she raised a hand. "You asked what I wanted."

"Yes?" Suddenly he was wary. And worried. That worry made her want to cry, for Raoul de Jouray was never worried. But they'd be tears of happiness.

"I want a part of the income from my dower property here in England to be placed, for my use alone, with a certain Ingelram, an English wine merchant in Bordeaux."

His brows rose, but he nodded. "I agree. Anything else?"

"Two maids from Brome or Heywood among my women, if they will come."

"Of course. You must choose your women as you wish. Anything else?"

"Well," she said, "if you
insist
on finding me sugar crystals from the East . . ."

He pulled her into his arms, a fierce flare of joy in his eyes. "You are sweet enough already." After a crushing silence he said, almost hesitantly, "That was a yes?"

Tears did spring to her eyes as she nodded.

He pushed her back to look at her, and the joy in his face made her cry some more.

"An excellently negotiated surrender, little castle." He wiped tears from her cheeks. "Christ's crown, but you'll fit right into my family. Did I ever tell you you remind me very much of my mother?"

His kiss this time was thorough, and under the heady knowledge that they were to be married, that she would soon he skin to skin and more with this man, passion bubbled up in Aline like water from a cracked rock.

But when the kiss ended, she had to break the news that Galeran insisted that they go home to get Hubert's consent.

"Yet more time in the north?" he groaned, but he was smiling as if he'd never stop, and had her tight against his body as if he'd never let go. "I'll perish."

"Perhaps I should find you the pelt of a white bear." She ran her hand over his chest, wishing she could touch his skin.

"Or cuddle up to me at night ... no," he added. "That would be fatal."

"Fatal?" She ran her fingers up to his neck, where at least there was skin to be touched. "People don't die of a little self-restraint, you know."

He captured her hand and kissed her fingertips. "Witch. Some of us know what we're missing."

"Some of us are more practiced in self-restraint, you mean," she retorted, snatching her hand free with a grin. Before he could pursue the matter, she pulled him out of the granary, eager to find Galeran and Jehanne and share the news.

He went willingly enough, but murmured, "Throwing challenges from the walls again, my green cadet?"

* * * * *

Warned by those words, Aline wasn't totally surprised when Raoul appeared in her room that night.

She shared a bed with Jehanne, while Winifred slept on a pallet on the floor by the baby's crib. Raoul had woken her with gentle hand and quiet voice, and now gestured to her to go with him. Driven by curiosity and a simmering excitement, she put her hand in his to be pulled to her feet.

But standing there in her shift, she mouthed, "What do you think you're doing?"

"Taking up your challenge." He gestured toward the door.

Aline knew she shouldn't go, but as always, she couldn't resist his challenges. She did glance back at Jehanne, the notoriously light sleeper, and thought she saw a smile.