Wings of the Storm (21 page)

She calmed herself with the stern reminder that she had the boy's safety to worry about. "He meant no harm," she said quickly, afraid the accident might rouse the man's temper.

He calmly brushed fingers over the damp spot, looking at her as if he thought she were mad. "No harm done," he said. "No need for wine, either, lad." He gestured Michael away. "I never drink anything stronger than ale, and never much of that."

Jane couldn't help but ask, "Why?"

"Because when I drink," he told her, "I think I'm God." Old pain haunted his eyes.

"I have news," he added now that he had her atten-tion and before she could ask any more questions.

He glanced briefly down the table to where Sibelle and Stephan were sharing their plate and cup, continually touching and whispering lovingly to each other. "It can wait for a while," he decided. His eyes held hers for another long instant.

Jonathan touched her sleeve suddenly. She jumped and turned away from Daffyd. "What?"

Jonathan was looking at her thoughtfully. "Some-thing just occurred to me, my lady. Perhaps, if you're intent on entering the convent—"

"Oh, she is," Daffyd chimed in.

Both she and Jonathan ignored him. Jonathan went on. "You could travel with me when I return to France. I could take you down to Anjou, to Fontre—"

"I've been to Anjou," Daffyd cut in again.

She threw him a sour look. "I would rather found my own order," she told Jonathan. "Though perhaps I could do it in France as easily as in England. Easi-er, I suppose, since the Church is there to grant its blessing."

He nodded, then added with a wicked smile, "I still think you should marry." He looked around Daffyd to Osbeorn, whose attention had been caught by the word
marriage.
"Lord Osbeorn has need of a wife,"

Jonathan went on.

She felt herself blanching.
"I—"

"And Yves of Sturry asked me about you after the ceremony. Another fine man willing to share the holy sacrament of matrimony with a good, devout woman. Wouldn't it be a shame to waste her beauty in a con-vent, Sir Daffyd?" Jonathan inquired of the Welsh-man.

Daffyd's face bore no expression. His rich voice was carefully controlled. "It's nothing to me if the lady wishes to give herself to God, or even Hugh of Lilydrake, for that matter." His eyes raked over her coldly. "It's nothing to me," he repeated, his voice softer this time.

She didn't understand the pain stabbing through her at his repudiation. She couldn't understand what the man wanted of her, either. One moment his voice and eyes teased her with seductive promises, the next he pushed her cruelly away.

"Lilydrake?" Osbeorn said, suddenly somewhat alert. He peered at Jonathan indignantly. "I saw the woman first. Fine-looking woman. Bear fine sons. Lilydrake's got no feelings for children or anything else." He went back to his wine cup, mumbling, "Saw her first."

Jonathan's eyes sparkled with amusement. "He's a good father, at least."

"I don't want him," she said quietly but firmly. She raised her wine cup to her lips.

"What about Yves, then?" the priest persisted.

"King John," Daffyd spoke up over Jonathan's question, "will be arriving at Passfair with a hunting party in two days' time."

20

Jane's, cup crashed onto the table.Her eyes flew to Daffyd's face. "You're joking!"

His lips twitched up in his customary smirk. "No." He jerked his head in the bride and groom's direction.

"The news can wait for them until mom-ing. But I thought you, as chatelaine, would need word sooner."

Then why hadn't he told her half an hour ago? He had her full attention now. His green-flecked eyes were full of triumphant amusement. "We have two days to prepare for the king?" she went on frantically.

"What's the king doing coming here? Passfair's just a little keep, a minor holding."

"It borders on Blean Forest," Daffyd reminded her. "A royal forest where kings come to hunt."

She rubbed her temples tiredly. "Thank God the place is at least clean."

He gave a deep chuckle. "His Majesty travels with his own pavilions, so I'm told. He'll use the hall for feasting, and holding court, perhaps. He'll certainly require a great many of Passfair's provisions for him-self and his attendants. Pray the harvest is a good one, Lady Jehane, if you don't want to starve after paying for the privilege of seeing a king."

He picked up his ale cup and shouted for quiet. His voice had power and authority enough to get the noisy throng's attention immediately. He used his expressive voice to make a flowery toast to the bride and groom while Jane sat in stunned worry.

"He should have been a herald," Jonathan mur-mured in her ear.

She didn't pay any attention to the priest. Or any attention to the toast to the happy couple Sir Daffyd offered in slyly amused, flattering words. There was a great deal of cheering. Jane stared at her hands,

obliv-ious of the spilled wine dripping down from the table onto her pale skirts. I don't want the king to come here, she thought morosely.

She looked up and around the hall. Everyone was on their feet, laughing and shouting good wishes and hopes for many children. Switha and Cerdic were among the village folk given their own table in the hall.

They had their arms tightly around each other's waists; Switha had flowers braided in her hair. Bertram was standing in his usual spot by the door, his broken teeth bared in a hearty laugh, but still alert as ever to the needs of those he served. Alais and Marguerite, and Raoul DeCorte were sharing a table with the guests' older children and retainers. Stephan and Sibelle were standing; voices urged them upstairs.

This had become her home, she thought unhappi-ly. The king was coming here. King John. John Lack-land. Why didn't he go to Sturry? A baron's castle

would be a more appropriate place to house a king.

Because the baron was slowly and painfully dying, and John had a morbid fear of death. The his-torian in her head reeled off facts. The last-bom and least-gifted son of Henry II and Eleanor of Aquitaine, he had been—he was! She knew too much, she thought desperately. What if she some-how, some way, did or said something around him that could change the course of history? Making small changes in a tiny corner of Kent was one thing, but anything to do with the life of a king was too risky. She had to get away.

Jonathan got to his feet, everyone else at the table following him. lane moved with them automatically, her mind both numb and racing. Sir Daffyd was at her elbow. She was aware of his nearness, his over-powering presence. She was half tempted to reach out to him for support, to beg him to ride with her away from this place. She was feeling so desperate. He'd saved her once; a part of her believed she could trust him to save her again.

They were separated as all the people in the hall tried to mount the staircase at once. It was a friendly crush, noble jostling peasant in boisterous equanimi-ty and getting jostled back cheerfully. Jane tried to step out of it then, thinking to make a run for the sta-bles, but Cerdic grabbed her around the waist and pulled her along as he passed. She was halfway up the steps before she was able to disentangle herself.

By then it was too late to turn back.

The bawdy, laughing crowd mingled together on the narrow stair. Jane flowed along with the mass up to the second floor but hesitated in the narrow hall-way as others shoved and pushed toward the stair-case leading to bower and bedchamber. She was unable to squeeze out of the way until she edged over to the wall at the bottom of the second-floor staircase. She waited there, pressed against the solid stone. She was in no mood to be a part of this bawdy, classically medieval bedding scene right now.

To her surprise, a tall figure stepped out of the passing throng, joining her in the shadows. She turned her eyes up to Sir Daffyd's face, half in light, half in shadow. The lines of his face and the shad-owed hollows of his cheeks were starkly outlined by the flame of the nearest torch.

"What?" he purred, edging close to her as the last of the revelers straggled up to attend the blessing of the bedded couple. "Not anxious to witness the rest of the wedding?"

She could manage only a slight shake of her head.

"You're pale," he said, though she didn't know how he could tell in the dim light. "Could it be you're reminded of your own marriage bed?" He leaned closer. He wasn't so much taller than she, six inches,

maybe. Why did looking up at him give her vertigo? "Could it be you miss the pleasures of marriage?"

What pleasures of marriage? What was the man talking about? She'd never been married. Why was he standing so close? Didn't he know the king was com-ing and she had to get away? Why did his lips look so soft and strong at the same time? How could lavender mixed with sweat smell so wonderfully masculine? His hands touched her waist. She felt the warmth and strength of his hands, the layers of her silk clothing sliding sensuously across her skin as he drew her for-ward against him. She tilted her head up to look him in the eye, her mouth opened to speak.

He whispered,"Jehane."

Growing suddenly weak with desire, she found herself melting longingly against him. Then his lips covered hers and she couldn't remember what she'd started to say. Then she didn't want to say anything as her lips opened hungrily beneath the questing insistence of his tongue. It was a demanding kiss, filling her with heat and pent-up need. The air around them seemed to burst into flame as she answered his hunger with her own. He cupped the back of her head with one large palm. The grip of his other hand on her waist grew tighter, pressing her closer. She clung to him, drinking in the pleasure from his mouth and his strong, muscular body. Her fingers sifted through the luxurious, soft waves of his hair.

He was stronger, more overpoweringly masculine, than she'd ever dreamed.

Dreamed. This wasn't a dream. The realization that this was very real brought Jane jokingly back to her senses. There was only a moment's surprised resistance from Daffyd when she tensed, then broke away from him.

"What are you doing?" she demanded shrilly, slith-ering backward along the wall just in time to avoid his hand grazing her cheek. She continued backing, crabwise, along the wall.

"Jehane .. ." His voice followed her. "Damn."

She turned her back on him, hurrying toward her door.

Where she found Hugh of Lilydrake waiting, lounging with arms crossed, next to the door. She'd recovered her composure by the time she came up to him. Far from being startled at the way he ran his eyes lasciviously over her form, she responded with an annoyed "What do you want?" She found herself repeating Daffyd's gesture as she fingered the small dagger on her belt.

He didn't take the hint. He took a step closer. "I'm going to take my pleasure with you, woman," he declared. "The boy won't be wanting you tonight. No need for you to be coy."

Before he could say or do anything that would have required her shedding blood, Daffyd came saun-tering nonchalantly down the hall. "Hugh," he said cheerfully, stopping by her side. "I thought you were in Normandy."

"I'm not," the lord of Lilydrake answered shortly.

"Pity. Too bad you missed the excitement of the fair. No, you must have been back by then, surely."

"No."

"Then you wouldn't have heard about the ambush at Stourford?"

"No."

"No? With the news of it running all over the countryside?"

"I'm not interested in local gossip."

Something in the way Daffyd questioned the nasty little man reminded Jane of a police detective ques-tioning a suspect. It reminded her that Daffyd was a policeman of sorts. What was his official title?

Did he report to a sheriff or directly to the king? Whoever it was, she got the impression Daffyd ap Bleddyn was a law unto himself, whatever his place in the feudal hierarchy. Right now his stalwart presence was mak-ing Hugh of Lilydrake uncomfortable as they stood hostilely, toe to toe, before her door.

"I'm going to bed," she announced as the staring

match went on. "God's blessing on you both," she added, opening the door.

When she stepped through. Sir Daffyd leaned a stout shoulder on the wood and pushed in after her. He closed the door on Hugh's frustrated exclamation. "Get out of here!" she shouted. "And let Hugh in?" he countered. He bent an ear to the solid wood, putting a finger to his lips to shush her as he listened. "He's still out there pacing like a caged jackal. You must really inflame his passions. Lady Jehane."

She snorted derisively. "He'd do it with a dog." She covered her mouth with her hands, shocked at her own crudeness in repeating something the maid-enly Marguerite had said the night before. "More likely with his hand," Daffyd said. Jane stifled a laugh. She came to the door and added her ear to the surveillance. She wasn't sure it was possible to hear anything through the thick wood. She certainly didn't hear anything now. "Caged jackal indeed," she muttered.

"Perhaps I exaggerated a bit," Daffyd admitted. She moved away from the door. He followed her to the center of the room. Her servant was gone with the others, but she'd left a pair of thick tallow candles burning on a barrel near the alcove curtain. On the floor next to the barrels Jane made out the shape of saddlebags. She wasn't sure if she was afraid Daffyd would kiss her again or afraid he wouldn't.

Rounding on Daffyd, she said, "Oh, no, you're not staying here!"

His sweeping gesture took in the whole room. "Where else? I have Sir Stephan's permission to occupy these quarters when I'm at Passfair. He hasn't revoked his permission," he pointed out in his cream-and-chocolate drawl. "Or I could offer to exchange places with Hugh if you like."

"That's not funny."

"Fine." He rubbed his hands together briskly. "You'll find me an amiable companion, as long as I'm not disturbed. Do you think your woman will be back tonight?"

"No," she responded, considering a moment after the word left her mouth that maybe she should have lied to him. She didn't want to be alone with him. Most of the time she didn't think he was interested in touching her at all. And then he'd look at her with a hunger that made her blood turn to molten lava. His actions totally confused her. She didn't know what to make of him. Right now he was showing no indica-tion of approaching. He was being reasonable, if high-handed. She supposed she should try to be rea-sonable in return.