Wild Wind (10 page)

“Milo, why don’t you join us?” Alex asked. “Come with us and seek your fortune in England.”

Milo toyed with the stem of his goblet. “I have...other plans,” he said cryptically. “Besides, I’d stay out of it anyway. England isn’t a private estate, like Normandy. King Edward can’t simply promise it to his chosen heir. England’s witan chooses their king, and they’ll probably choose Harold Godwineson, Earl of Wessex, over the Bastard of Normandy—they revere Harold in England.”

“The witan will choose the king whom Edward recommends,” Luke said, “and since Edward has promised the crown to William, ‘twill go to William.”

“Perhaps,” Milo suggested, “Edward made his promise unthinkingly, or perhaps William misinterpreted some comment of Edward’s. Or perhaps he invented an interpretation quite unlike what Edward had intended—”

“What are you implying?” Alex demanded, shocked as much by his own wrath toward his beloved cousin as by Milo’s base insinuation. “William is a man of honor. He would never stoop to such underhanded—”

“Easy, Alex,” Luke placated. “Milo didn’t mean any—”

“But I did!” Milo’s devilish grin dissolved quickly, replaced by an expression of fraternal concern. “I don’t much mind you fighting for this bastard, Alex, but don’t deify him, for God’s sake. If you’re going to throw in your lot with him, do it with your eyes open. He’s botched things up in the past, and he’s about to do so again in Brittany—and perhaps in England as well. God forbid the witan should decide to crown Harold. William will go rushing across the Channel in an unthinking frenzy—”

“Unthinking!” Alex pounded a fist on the table. Luke rested a hand on his shoulder. “He’s a brilliant military leader!”

“That’s what you said about Roland,” Milo reminded him drolly. “And his folly cost thousands of lives.”

“William of Normandy is destined to be king of England,” Alex declared, “and I intend to support him no matter what. If I have to fight the English for his right to rule, then I’ll fight them. At least I’ve got the stones for it, which is more than you can—”

“Alex...” Luke’s grip tightened on his brother’s shoulder.

“Cousin.” Peter rose, stabbing Alex with a censorious scowl. “This conversation has gone on long enough, I think. The ladies are growing weary of it.”

Abashed, Alex wondered how Nicki had reacted to his outburst. He glanced her way to find her looking at him, very still and quiet. He chanced a smile, and her features softened.

“When I asked you here this morning,” Peter said, “I told you I had an announcement to make.”

Nicki abruptly looked away.

“I do,” Peter continued. “A very special one, which greatly gladdens my heart.” He grinned broadly. “This morning, my wife’s beloved lady cousin, Nicolette de St. Clair, honored my brother, Milo de Périgeaux, by consenting to be his wife.”

Blood roared in Alex’s head, overwhelming the swell of voices raised in exclamations of pleasure. It was a struggle just to fetch his breath as he watched Milo accept the congratulations with cordial good grace. Nicki was subdued.

“Nay,” he rasped.

Luke’s fingers dug painfully into his shoulder, quelling his impulse to bolt to his feet. “Be still.”

“Nay.” Bracing his hands on the table, he tried to rise, but Luke slammed him down, hard. In the tumult of excitement, no one seemed to notice.

“Not now,” Luke ground out as Peter called for silence so that he could finish his announcement. “Not here.”

“When, then?” Luke whispered harshly.

“Never.”

“I entreat you all to join us at the chapel door tomorrow morning at terce to witness the joining in holy wedlock of—

“Tomorrow!” Alex’s outcry was drowned out by a chorus of astonishment.

“The wedding must needs be hasty,” Peter said with exaggerated patience, having evidently anticipated this uproar, “for word arrived late last night that the bride’s uncle, Henri de St. Clair, has been stricken with a stoppage of the liver. The ladies Nicolette and Sybila are compelled to return posthaste to St. Clair. My brother, as Lady Nicolette’s lord husband, will accompany them.”

“Christ.” Alex wrested himself out of his brother’s grasp and stalked out of the hall.

So deeply shaken was he that, when he found himself in the middle of the sheep meadow, he could not recall having walked there. Gazing across at the woods that hid their little cave, a torrent of rage and loss rose within him, ripping out of his lungs as a raw animal howl. The sheep scattered, bleating. He dropped to his knees, fists clenched, and screamed every foul oath he knew as loud as he could.

A hand on his back made him whip around, trembling. “Jesu! Luke.”

Luke sat next to him. “Didn’t you notice me following you?”

Sinking down, Alex rested his arms on his updrawn knees and shook his head.

“Come on.” Luke patted him on the shoulder. “Let’s go home.”

“You go ahead,” Alex said raspily, his throat sore from screaming. “I’m going to wait and talk to her.”

“Alex...”

“I just need to talk to her. Don’t worry about me, brother. You’re always watching out for me. I feel smothered. I’m not a child anymore.”

“I know that, Alex, but you’re upset. ‘Tis best if you come home with me—”

“How could she do this?” Alex dragged shaking fingers through his close-cropped hair. “I love her. She knows it, she must. I’ve shown her in a thousand ways. I’ve treated her like a princess. I’ve been gentle and chivalrous and...” He shook his head helplessly. “Why?”

Luke hesitated, as if choosing his words. “Perhaps you’ve been...a bit too chivalrous.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Perhaps she didn’t want a gentle chevalier. Perhaps she wanted...a man.”

It took Alex a moment to grasp his brother’s meaning. When he did, he leapt to his feet. “She’s an innocent maiden. She knows naught of such things.” Turning away as Luke stood up, he added, “I’m going to go talk to her.”

Luke grabbed his arm and came around to face him. “Alex, think about it...a rushed wedding and all. Have you considered the possibility that...they had to get married?”

Alex hauled back and slammed his fist into Luke’s face. His brother fell to the ground, blinking in astonishment, blood oozing from beneath the hand cupped over his nose.

Stunned at what he’d done—he’d never struck his brother in anger, only for sport—Alex’s knees buckled. Finding himself kneeling in the grass, it only seemed right to whisper a brief prayer of forgiveness.

Luke sat up, chuckling to find Alex executing a solemn sign of the cross. “You’ll have to work on your punch if you expect to do enough damage to pray over.”

“I broke your nose.”

Luke prodded his swollen nose, from which blood trickled. “‘Tisn’t broken, just angry.” Gently fingering the reddened flesh around his left eye, he said, “I’ll have a black eye tomorrow, though. ‘Twill give me an excuse to visit Tempeste. She’s good with poultices and such. And when it comes to giving comfort, she’s without equal.”

Alex shook his head mournfully. “I’m an animal.”

Luke slapped him on the back. “I spoke without thinking, said things I shouldn’t have, especially with you so upset. I suppose all I really meant was...well, Milo is older than you, and...women tend to be attracted to a more mature man. And, of course, they’ve much in common. There’s a sort of affinity of the mind between them. Surely you’ve noticed.”

Steeped in misery, Alex could only nod.

“It really shouldn’t surprise you that she chose him,” Luke said gently.

“But it does,” Alex said hoarsely. “It astounds me. You don’t understand, Luke. You don’t know...what’s transpired between us.”

Luke frowned. “You told me you’d done naught but hold her hand.”

“I don’t mean physically. I never...I wouldn’t have...I love her! It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense. She loves me, I know it!” Rising to his feet, Alex offered his brother a hand up. “I’m going to talk to her.”

Luke sighed. He started to say something, then shook his head. “Do as you must. But don’t make this a public event. Find some way to speak to her privately.”

“The things I need to say to her,” Alex assured his brother, “I could hardly say in front of an audience.”

ALEX SPENT THE
rest of that afternoon lying on the floor of the cave, studying the mysterious paintings and feeling very juvenile and inept for having let things come to this pass. His heart pushed against his chest as if it were trying to burst through. Part of him wished it would, just to put an end to this torment.

When night fell, he made his way undetected to the little guest house in which Nicki and her mother slept, a thatched stone cottage across the flagstone courtyard from Peter’s main house. Anxious not to be seen, he slipped around back, jimmied open the shutters on the single window, and crept inside.

By the watery moonlight he found a lantern and lit it. The one-room cottage was homey and well-kept, with a fresh coat of whitewash on the walls and herb-strewn rushes carpeting the clay floor.

A bowl of fragile little wild roses sat in the middle of a linen-draped table. They were from the edge of the sheep meadow, near the cave. Alex had picked them for Nicki yesterday. He lifted one to smell it, but a thorn bit into his thumb, drawing blood. Slipping the blossom back into the bowl, he licked the blood absently.

On a little table next to the wash stand he found a tidy arrangement of toiletries on an embroidered cloth: a lump of soft soap on a clay dish, a comb of bird’s-eye maple, a boar’s hair brush. He unstoppered a tiny bottle of thick, bubbly blue glass and sniffed; it contained rose oil. A little pot of some sort of balm smelled spicy. He opened a small ivory case carved in an intricate pattern and found that it housed a polished-steel looking glass. Fancying that it retained Nicki’s image in its silvery depths, he entertained a reckless urge to slip it into the leather pouch on his belt. In the end, he replaced it where it had been.

From hooks on the wall hung an assortment of ladies’ tunics. He counted four of plain black wool—the lady Sybila’s, of course—and half a dozen silken gowns in the delicate hues that her daughter favored—ivory, dove gray, lavender, icy blue, a pink as muted as a blush...and the pale green trimmed with silver that she’d been wearing the day they discovered their cave.

Alex touched the green gown, rubbed the liquid-smooth silk between his fingers. It was nearly the same sea-green as her eyes. Perhaps that’s why she looked so devastatingly beautiful in it.

His throat spasmed. Taking deep breaths, he forced his anguish deep inside. He hadn’t cried since he was a child. He’d be damned if he’d let Nicki find him weeping over her.

Against the back wall stood a large bed. Alex crossed to the trunk at its foot and opened it. A white silken garment lay on top, as if tossed in carelessly. Lifting it, he found it to be a sleeping shift—a rather scanty one, obviously designed with warm summer nights in mind. The detachable sleeves had been removed at the shoulders, and the bodice dipped low in front; it was surprisingly short. He envisioned Nicki wearing this slick little layer of silk and nothing else, and the breath caught in his lungs. Gathering the shift in his fists, he brought it to his face and breathed in the warm, tantalizing scent that had held him in a bewitched haze all summer. His mind reeled with the provocative thoughts and images that had haunted his nights—damp flesh...secret places...dark, unyielding needs.

A faint rattling came from the door—a key being turned in the lock. Alex threw the shift into the trunk and slammed it shut as the door swung open.

Nicki took one step into the room and drew up short, eyes wide. An enormous key slipped from her fingers, disappearing into the rushes. “Alex!”

“Nicki.”

The lady Sybila stepped out from behind her, gaping in shock. She stalked into the room, looking back and forth between the two of them, nostrils flaring. “Jesus have mercy,” she whispered, her eyes igniting with comprehension.

“Mama...” Nicki began.

“Nicolette, didn’t I warn you?” her mother asked in a quavering voice. “Do you never learn?”

“Mama, please—”

“He’s got to leave! If he’s found here, you’ll be destroyed.” Turning to Alex, she held the door wide and pointed rigidly toward the courtyard. “Get out! What were you thinking, coming here? My daughter is to be married tomorrow morning. If anyone saw you come in here, she’ll be ruined.”

“No one saw me,” he said with as much calm as he could muster. “I came in through the window.”

“Merciful God,” Sybila muttered.

“I’m not going,” he said. “You are.”

Sybila’s face twisted into a mask of outrage. “And leave you alone with her? Are you mad?”

“I mean to speak to her, nothing more. If you don’t go now, I’ll let my presence here be known to one and all.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I assure you I will,” he said gravely.

“Go, mama,” Nicki implored. “Please. I’ll be all right. He just wants to talk.”

Sybila pinned Alex with a look of loathing so intense that it chilled him. “You have made a grievous error, coming here,” she said softly.

Whether that was intended as a threat, Alex knew not, for she didn’t elaborate, merely departed quietly. Alex fetched the key from the rushes and locked the door. Tossing the key onto the table, he turned to Nicki. “Are you carrying his child?”

Her hand flew to her bosom. “Nay! How can you ask that? He’s never touched me! I swear it!”

She seemed sincere, but that wasn’t the only reason Alex believed her. Milo had always said he found Nicki too thin and pale and delicate for his taste. He liked buxom, earthy women like his Violette.

“Then why?” Alex demanded. “Why, Nicki?”

“He...” Nicki’s voice shook. “He proposed last night. ‘Twas after the letter came, about my uncle. Mama told him we had to return to St. Clair, and he found me and asked me to marry him.”

“He doesn’t love you. He loves a woman named Violette.”

“I know. He told me last night.”

“Did he tell you he’s only marrying you to get out from under his brother’s thumb?”

“I know why he’s marrying me, Alex,” she said quietly, her voice a bit more steady. “I’m no fool.”