Princess of Fire, page 42
The baby kicked again, and her smile widened.
“He does love us, little one. Perhaps he doesn’t know it, perhaps he cannt say it. But surely he loves us.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Easter proved to be a grand occasion for William and his party. When the mass had been celebrated, there was no end to the rounds of entertainment.
Edgar Atheling, Edwin and Morkere, and many other important English off icials, all of them well dressed, were with the party. They were treated courteously, and yet, as Edwin told Fallon, they were like birds, trapped in jeweled cages.
“William has brought us here so that there can be no rallying point in England while he is gone. Had he been able to find your brothers, they would be here, too. We are on display before these Normans, who gawk and stare and laugh at our clothing and our language. God, how I wish to go home!”
As the days and then the weeks passed, Fallon began to feel the strain. She missed Alaric, when he rode to Anlou. She offered to accompany him, but he seemed cold and brooding and distant, and he refused her.
He did not stay away long, but when he returned there was some part of him she could not reach, and she wondered if it was not the same with her. She was glad to be with him, and she did not deny it. He was loyal to her, openly so before any who saw them. She was grateful, for her pregnancy grew more apparent daily. At night, in his arms, she was happy, but the days were a strain, and she longed for them to end.
Soon after Easter, William held a great tournament. Watching from her place in the stands, Fallon was proud to see Alaric’s fine appearance when he rode in the lists. His combatant was a Hessian knight, and Alaric easily unseated him, then just as competently dealt with him in a mock swordfight. Fallon rose to her feet, clapping. But as Alaric bowed before leaving the field, she became achingly aware of the whispers behind her.
“Who is that maid?” a woman’s voice demanded.
“Why ’tis the old Saxon king’s bastard girl!” a man replied. “And now a well-laid whore!” the woman laughed.
Before the next contest could begin, Fallon rose and quit the stands with dignity. She hurried to the palace and discovered Edwin there, in the hall, standing morosely before the fire. Although he was a young man, he seemed to bear the weight of the world upon his shoulders.
“Fallon!” he said startled, and his eyes took in her tense and distraught face. “What is it?”
She shook her head. “Oh, Edwin, I cannot bear much more of this!”
“They are jealous,” he said quietly. “They stare at the most beautiful of the birds in the jeweled cage, and they are jealous.” She was afraid that she was going to cry. He came to her and put his arms around her. She placed her cheek against his shoulder, and he smoothed his hand over her hair.
“Oh, Edwin. Sometimes it just hurts so badly!” she murmured.
“I know. I know.” Suddenly he stiffened, and his hand went still. Fallon pushed away from him and turned, and discovered Alaric there, still in his mail from the joust, his helmet held beneath his arm. He was towering and straight, and she could read no message in the cold slate color of his eyes.
Edwin faced him with pride and courage, Fallon thought. He addressed Alaric quickly. “There is nothing here, my lord, except what the eyes plainly see. We are old friends, seeking the comfort of that old friendship, and nothing more.”
Alaric bowed curtly to them both. “Then I leave you to that comfort,” he said coldly.
He walked back to the lists in a fury. Matilda had sent a messenger to warn him that something had upset Fallon. He’d left the tournament to find her, and find her he had—in the arms of another man, the youthful earl, Edwin of Mercia. Would he never be able to trust her? Would he always harbor the fear that she sought her own kind, that she sought escape? As sweetly, as lovingly, as tenderly as she came to him, it seemed that the barrier remained. He was the vile conqueror; she was the Saxon maid. How long would she fight this battle?
He stomped back to his tent, and though the joust went on, he shouted for Richard to bring Satan to him. Old friends, indeed. “Satan,” he told the horse, “now, you, good sir, are an old friend. You fight with courage, you cross the Channel in good humor no matter what the weather, and you don’t seem to give a damn if you’re a Norman horse or a Saxon horse!”
He was about to mount Satan when he heard his name called softly and he turned. Matilda was there by his tent, smiling sweetly.
“Where are you off to in such foul humor?”
He shook his head to her. “Just riding, Matilda.”
“Come and talk to me.”
He saw the gentle smile on her open, pretty face. He handed the reins to Richard and walked along by her side. She chatted idly about affairs in Normandy and reminisced about years past. He listened halfheartedly as they walked under the trees and along the brook. Spring had come with splendor. Birth and beauty were everywhere, and the earth was fragrant and rich.
“Why the temper?” Matilda demanded suddenly.
“You are mistaken. I am in no temper, lady.”
She laughed. “Alaric, you forget! I have known you since you were an honorable lad, determined to speak up for William.”
He shrugged. “I am in no temper.”
She stopped walking and stared at him. “Marry her.”
“What?”
“You are angry with Fallon. I don’t know what happened, but your mood is most obvious. People speak cruelly of her. They say things that are not true. You have made her your mistress. Soothe your own soul. Marry her. Give your babe what you and William never had—legitimacy.”
“William and I did quite well without it, madame.”
“Alaric—”
“Nay, Matilda! I will not marry again!”
“And why not?”
Alaric paused, watching William’s determined duchess. “Matilda, you twist knives where no man would dare. But I will tell why I cannot marry her. I do not believe in love, madame. I have seen the hurt it does. I do not trust women, and most especially I cannot trust Fallon. Twice she has taken up arms against me. Eric Ulfson escaped me and will no doubt raise an army to rise against William. And as his prize, Fallon has promised herself. Then, for the last, lady, it is unlikely that she would consent to wed. She still sees us as the murderers who slew her father in cold blood.”
“I believe she would marry you.”
“It will not happen.”
“You are a fool, Alaric. You are denying yourself happiness.”
“Perhaps.”
“Keep thinking about it, Alaric. For the child. For yourself. And even for Fallon. I know she is plotting nothing else against you. I believe—Why, I believe she loves you.”
Alaric growled skeptically. Matilda continued to watch him anxiously.
“All right, Duchess, all right! I will consider what you have said” He meant the promise; but he doubted that he could still his own tortured fears of her betrayal long enough to make it through a wedding ceremony. He sighed. “She is mine, Matilda, and I will care for her, and I will see that she suffers no more from vicious tongues. William has work for me, and I am eager to return home.”
“This is your home.”
He glanced at her frowning, then explained himself to her. “I wish to return to my property in England. I have promised Fallon that the babe will be born there. I will love him, he will be my heir. It will be enough.”
He bowed low to Matilda, then turned and left her. He didn’t rejoin the festivities, but hurried to the room he shared with Fallon.
She was there, sitting quietly before the fire, knitting some tiny garment. When he entered, her eyes met his in brilliant blue defiance.
He cast her a chilling glare, then bellowed for Richard to come and help him with his armor. When it was removed, he ordered food and wine brought to the room. Richard gave Fallon a quick nod, and departed quickly.
She still had not spoken. He stood by the fire and watched her for a long, long time.
“We will depart tomorrow for England,” he said.
Startled, she dropped her needlework and stood, and nearly raced across the room to his arms. The coldness within his gaze stopped her, and she stood watching him in silence.
“Thank you,” she murmured, restrained.
Richard brought them food. Fallon discovered that she had very little appetite, and Alaric remained brooding and silent. When she had finished eating, she picked up her needlework again, ignoring Alaric. He likewise ignored her and prepared for bed. Fallon stared at her tiny stitches while her mind raced. How could he suspect her of wayward behavior, when she grew bulkier daily with his seed?
“For God’s sake! Will you stop that and come to bed!” he snapped out suddenly.
Fallon stared his way, her eyes narrowing with anger. “I’ll do what I damn well please, Count!”
She quickly discovered that he did not intend to take the bait. Instead he rose and swept her into his arms, deposited her in bed, then blew out the candles. For an eternity they lay there in silence, and Fallon began to think that he slept. She started to get up, only to feel his hands dragging her back down and doing so with firm intent. She cried out as she heard fabric tear, and she flailed against him in a sudden heated fury.
” Nay, my lord, you will not treat me so!”
“Why? Is it only other men you crave to tease?”
“You are an oaf!”
“Did you receive the—comfort—you craved?”
“You fool! You’ve women enough so that it’s like a fall of apples in autumn—one never knows when one will strike! While I—”
“While you, my lady, have suitors across England and beyond, so it seems! And today you flirted with that poor boy—”
“Flirted! Oh, you ruddy bastard! What man craves a woman who is enormous with another man’s child?”
He held her arms tightly, staring into her eyes with a frightening intensity. “Eric Ulfson,” he said softly.
Fallon froze, looking down at him.
“Tell me, lady, what other plans do you have?”
“I—I have no plans. I swear it,” Fallon said huskily.
“Would that I could believe you.”
She shook her head miserably. “I didn’t mean to betray you, Alaric!” she cried. “Truly. Eric Ulfson has always made me shudder. Can’t you see that I sought him out for England?”
“And would you seek him out again—for England?”
She shook her head. Tears were forming in her eyes.
“Why not?” he demanded.
She could not ten him that she loved him. Such a declaration would make her too vulnerable. “Because of our child. Because I do not believe that his hordes could save England now. Because men and women are just beginning to live again. Because there is law established in London. Please, Alaric. I never wished to practice treachery.”
His hold on her eased, and his eyes softened. He pulled her to him, and she willingly, eagerly accepted his kiss. He tore her clothing to shreds, but she barely noticed as she entered the magic realm where the earth spun about the two of them, and nothing but the taste and touch and feel of him had substance. Some demon held him as he moved against her, swift and driven. He shuddered and convulsed, groaning deep in his throat, falling against her, soaked and spent, pulling her hard against him again, whispering erotically of his satisfaction. She lay, tempest-tossed and drifting, in his arms, but then as they reached solid ground, she felt the brooding that haunted him once more. She said nothing, for she did not understand it.
His chin rested on her head and he held her protectively close, one hand on her belly. “If only this were always truth,” he whispered, with a curious touch of anguish in his voice. She twisted from him to study his face.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing. Go to sleep,” he commanded her.
She could not fathom his mood, and so she lay silent beside him. He held her tight, and at last she slept.
He was true to his word. In the morning, they started out for England. Roger and Rollo were returning with them, as well as Steven, the squire, and young Richard and a number of other knights in Alaric’s service. Matilda insisted on sending one of her women, Magalie, who was an experienced midwife. Fallon was glad of her, for though the woman was nearly toothless with wild gray hair, she was cheerful and pleasant, and had a soothing way with her, which was good—for Alaric’s temper did not improve. He was angry with himself that they had not left earlier, for Fallon was now nearly seven months along, and he cursed himself for the danger in her riding. Still, they reached the coast with no incidents, and their crossing was wonderfully smooth.
He told her that they would pause for a few nights at Bosham where she could spend time with her mother.
Fallon would have stayed longer, but at the beginning of June, Alaric was determined to return to Haselford. He did not want Fallon traveling any later, and he reminded her curtly that if she did not take care, she could well bring forth their babe on an old Roman road. Fallon wanted her mother to accompany her to Haselford, and Alaric had no objection, for he liked Edith very well.
It was good to return. Alaric felt the same affection for the place that he had felt from the beginning. Hamlin and his daughters had kept the manor house in good repair. The land was rich and green with the promise of summer. The crops grew well, and sheep grazed in a meadow bright with yellow flowers.
Alaric watched Fallon carefully and thought that she seemed happy to be here. It was a place where simple people lived, where cooking fires always blazed, where the rushes were swept, where the bedding was aired, and men and women still held their heads high.
Fallon was glad to be reunited with Jeanne and Marla, and Heath was quick to show Alaric all the work that had been done in his absence. There seemed to be children all about.
“It is hard to believe that there has been devastation at all when one sees this place,” Edith commented when they sat down to their first evening meal.
“’Tis a paradise, I believe,” Roger agreed with her.
Alaric threw Fallon a smile. ’Tis Fallon’s world,” he said softly. “We say begone to evil, and it is so, for thus she wills it.”
Startled by his gentle words, Fallon looked his way to find him gazing tenderly at her.
It was a homecoming for them, and when they were alone together, Alaric was both fierce and tender. But when he held her that night, he thought regretfully that her time drew very near, and he should not lie with her again.
In the morning, he told her that he would order his things moved to another room.
She stared at him, startled. Trembling, she lowered her eyes. “Why?” she asked him softly.
“I’d not disturb you and the babe,” he said gruffly. “Fallon, perhaps we have taken this too far already. You’ve little time left.”
She nodded, looking up at him. “But do you have to leave the room?”
He shook his head slowly, and he felt a sweet warmth fill him. “You wish me to stay?”
“We can still sleep beside each other,” she reminded him quietly. “If that means anything to you.”
He kissed her hand “Aye. It means a great deal to me. But I shall have to leave for a few days now and then. With William still in Normandy, there is no help for it.”
He did, in fact, leave within the week for he was determined to be back from his business when the child was born. He had to go to Dover first, with messages and instructions for William’s officials there, and thence to London, to make some new appointments and see to the smooth functioning of the government. Roger and Rollo went with him while Falstaff remained behind to guard the manor house.
Alaric was still uneasy about leaving Fallon. In certain ways, she was very much his—more so than he had ever expected. He had never thought such heaven could exist in a woman’s arms, and no maid had ever poured her love so sweetly upon him. She spoke to him in honesty and did not deny the passion that raged between them.
Yet all the while that she had plotted against him, he had never suspected it. He could not help wondering if even now she would betray him.
He loved her; in his heart, he knew it. But he dared not trust her, and there lay the barrier between them. Nor could he forget what had once befallen him in the name of love.
Later in June he rode home from London with Roger, Rollo, Richard, and Steven. The day was beautiful and bright. Robins sang tunefully, and the trill of a thousand insects rose with the soft bubbling of a nearby brook. The burned-out villages they passed were being rebuilt. Fall and winter had truly brought death to England, Alaric thought. Now spring and summer were bringing life.
“I don’t see how he can do it.”
Alaric straightened, aware that Roger’s loud comment to Rollo had been voiced for his benefit.
“’Tis difficult, isn’t it?” Rollo replied. “You would think that he’d wish to change the trend now, eh?”
Alaric stopped his horse and turned to the two of them. His mood was ragged, for he longed to sleep beside Fallon again, yet it was difficult to hold her without wanting her. The babe was big now, and he loved to touch her belly and feel the movement and speculate about what angle formed what part of the body. He was glad to hold her, to smooth his fingers over her breasts, glad to hold her close. But the dilemma did little for his mood.
“If you must talk, talk, What is it now?”
“Now?” Roger asked innocently. “It is nothing now, nothing that has not been the same these many months.”
Alaric stared at Rollo. “What the hell is he talking about?”
“Nothing. Except that you are indeed behaving crudely. Quite the barbarian the Saxons deem a Norman to be.”
His temper was now fully ruftled. “I am a most merciful man.”
“Merciful! Did you hear that, Richard?”
“Richard!” Alaric roared, staring at his young squire. “What is this? You talk behind my back, lad?”
“Nay—”
“Aye, he does!” Roger claimed boldly. “Alaric, you’ve borne the stain of bastardy all your life, and you would do it to, your first begotten son, to your heir! Once you wed a maid who could not believe in love. Now this one—who could have never been tamed by any hatred or force—has fallen to the very tenderness she feels for you. Yet you let her suffer for what another has done to you!”
