Chapter 2 #3
Alex looked to where Bea sat with Rory’s sister, Alice.
“She is very comely,” he said half-heartedly.
At eighteen summers, Guy’s sister was living up to the name “Beautiful Bea”.
With her silken light brown hair and gray-green eyes, she was every bit the child of her mother, Lady Emma, who sat close by her daughter.
But that was just the point. To Alex, Bea was a child and a compliant one at that.
He looked beyond her to the woman who fascinated him.
“If you are gazing at Sir Alain’s daughter, Lora, you may have competition from Sir Jamie. ’Tis why he is still unwed.”
“Aye, I can see he is attentive to her,” said Alex.
He had not missed the attention Jamie paid to Lora and was not unhappy she was the one who garnered smiles from the captain of his father’s house knights and not Merewyn.
Why had Sir Geoffroi not suggested Merewyn?
Was it the circumstance of her birth, her orphan status, or her unwomanly choice of pursuits?
“Well, there is also Alice, Rory’s sister,” Sir Geoffroi went on, “but I’m told the redhead is difficult.”
Alex’s brows drew together in a frown. “Marriage is not on my mind.” He reached for his wine.
Sir Geoffroi lifted his goblet, giving Alex a sidelong glance. “Taking after your father? Until he met your mother, the Red Wolf was not his only name. The Conqueror’s men called him ‘the warrior priest’.”
Alex laughed, covering his mouth to keep from spurting his wine on the table.
Breaking off a piece of bread, he sopped it in the juices in his trencher.
“There are many things they might call me, Sir Geoffroi, but ‘priest’ is not among them.” He took a bite of the tasty juice-soaked bread.
“Still, I thank you for the warning about the king’s intentions.
I have seen enough of Normandy to last me a long while.
I have no desire to bind myself to it. There is no peace to be had in that nest of vipers. ”
Sir Geoffroi laughed heartily. “Now you know why your father and I were happy to accompany Duke William to England. The rewards came later.”
After that, Alex turned to his other side and spoke in low tones to his father about the king’s court and all he could expect to find there.
“ ’Tis not like that on campaign,” Alex assured his father, “but in the king’s palace at Westminster, his favorites wear their hair longer than mine and mince about gowned and perfumed like women. ”
“I do not look forward to that,” said his father, “and your lady mother, who has no love for Norman kings, will have yet another excuse not to like this one.”
Alex knew well his mother’s opinion of the Conqueror for he had heard her expound upon it numerous times. With William Rufus’ strange proclivities and his disdain for the church, she would like this Norman king even less.
Once the honeyed fruit tarts were served, conversation in the hall died as two minstrels in colorful robes of green, gold and scarlet approached the dais, carrying lyre and pipes.
Candles flickered and the fire in the hearth slowly faded to embers as the minstrels’ music lifted enchanting sounds into the air.
When the gentle music ended, the tables were moved against the walls and more lively music replaced the soft sounds in anticipation of the dancing that would ensue.
Men began to choose partners for the dances.
Rory jumped from his seat and headed straight for Guy’s sister, Bea.
Guy, likely in an effort to get even, headed for Rory’s sister, the redheaded Alice.
When Alex saw Jamie take Lora’s hand, leaving Merewyn alone, he quickly got to his feet and strode in her direction.
He was of a mind to see if she danced as well as she was rumored to shoot her arrows.
* * *
Merewyn watched Alex crossing the hall to where she stood, oblivious to the eager looks from the women he passed. Her heart soared to think he would brave the disdain of others to seek her out for his partner. Mayhap he was not so arrogant as she had imagined.
When he bowed before her, offering his hand, she took it.
The shiver that snaked up her arm shocked her.
It was the first time he had touched her so, the way a man touched a woman for whom he had affection.
He was so much a man now, his strength revealed in his muscled shoulders and arms. She had promised herself she would stay away from him as she did the other knights and here she was partnering with him in a dance.
He led her to the large area where couples were forming squares. The group they joined set a fast pace keeping time with the music. Soon, she and Alex were matching the quick steps, laughing and smiling.
She was powerless against the joy she experienced being with him.
If she allowed herself, she might imagine they were a couple, for they moved easily together as if it were not the first time they had partnered.
She had learned to dance in Wales and savored the exhilaration of abandoning herself to the music.
And now it was Alex who held her hand.
After another dance, the room grew over-warm leaving her cheeks heated and her heart pounding.
When the music came to a dramatic end, Alex lifted her high into the air, her hands on his shoulders.
Caught up in the moment, she laughed as he set her down.
But around them, she glimpsed frowns on the faces of some older women.
Alex must have noticed, for he pulled her toward the door that led to the bailey. “Walk with me, Merewyn.”
Flushed with wine and heated from the dance, escaping the disapproving looks into the cooler air lured her almost as much as the temptation to be alone with him. “Aye, very well.”
He guided her out the door but did not let go of her hand. She should not allow him to touch her in so familiar a manner, but she could not bring herself to take back her hand.
Above her, the moonless sky was filled with a radiant circle of stars, their brightness dazzling. “It matters not how many times I see the stars on a clear night,” she remarked, “I am always in awe.”
He joined her to stare up at the brilliant display of stars. “ ’Twas the same for me when I looked into the night sky over Normandy.”
She had often tried to imagine him in that land, worried her champion might be wounded or worse. As a squire, he had followed the knights to battle and later, as a knight, he confronted the swords of other men. He could have died; many did.
She peered at him out of the corner of her eye, admiring his strong profile set against the light from the windows of the hall. “Did you sleep outdoors in Normandy?”
“Some. The last months were often warm. We had tents, of course. But other times, some of us slept in the hall of one of the nobles in Normandy. William Rufus likes his comforts, even on campaign.”
They walked through the bailey. All was quiet save the guards at the gate tower who spoke a greeting to Alex before returning to gaze outward from the palisade.
Alex rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, sending little ripples of pleasure through her. She forced herself to keep her mind on their conversation. “What is he like, the king?”
“He is still unwed, unusual for a king in his third decade. And he is not much like his father, who, I am told, respected the church. But like his father, he is a worthy knight and can be fierce in battle. He can also be dangerous when confronted.” He laughed. “Like an angry bull.”
She tried to imagine the Conqueror’s son who had become king upon his father’s death, but she could not recall one good thing said about him in Wales.
“When he is not wearing mail,” Alex went on, “he favors luxurious clothing adorned with gold and jewels.”
She glanced at Alex’s dark blue wool tunic, now black in the moonlight, fitted to his lean muscled form. How much more elaborate was the king’s attire? “Is he a difficult king to serve?”
“Not on the battlefield. And he is generous when pleased.”
It seemed he might say more but he hesitated and then was silent. Was he brooding? Often, his dark looks could seem threatening. There was so much she did not know about Alexander the man.
They drew next to the stables and it occurred to her she would like to see his great stallion. “Would you show me your horse, the huge black one you ride?”
“Aye, but you will have to approach him with care since you are new to him.”
Inside the long stable building, a lone candle burned in a copper lantern. At the entrance, a stable boy stirred in his sleep. Alex brought his finger to his lips and beckoned her farther into the stable’s depths.
Horses moved about in their stalls, a few looking over the ropes across the open doors as they passed, greeting them with soft nickers.
Near the back of the stable on the right was a large stall.
The black stallion raised his head over the rope and, seeing his master, nickered loudly, his ears coming forward.
Alex reached out and stroked the stallion’s neck. “Missed me, did you?” Then, looking at her, he said, “I acquired Azor in Normandy.”
“Will he let me touch his muzzle?” she asked, tentatively reaching out her hand.
“If you speak to him with soft words, aye.”
Merewyn loved horses but she was certain this one tolerated only one master. Gently, she ran her palm over the stallion’s soft muzzle and reaching up, slid her hand down his forehead. “You are a handsome fellow.” Like your master.
The light was dim but there were sparks in the stallion’s eyes as he raised his head. “He is magnificent,” she said. Larger than her Welsh pony, the black horse appeared to her a confident beast. “And I think he knows it,” she said with a small laugh.
Alex turned her to face him and placed his hands on her shoulders. “He does. He’s a proud beast like his master.”
She knew she should move away but his strong hands somehow anchored her feet to the ground. Before she fully understood his intent, he pulled her to him and set his lips upon hers, claiming a kiss she could not deny him. It was her first, long imagined and now realized.
His warm mouth moved over hers, the effect like strong wine, lulling her to ignore the objections her mind was shouting. She brought her hands to his arms feeling the muscles flexing beneath his tunic and hung on as he swept her into a swirling mist of sensations.
Her lips still sought his as he raised his head. “I have been wanting to do that since you first entered the hall tonight.”
“You would claim a woman’s kiss merely because you desire it?
” Mayhap it worked with others, but she refused to be one of his conquests.
Bringing her hands to his chest, she pushed him away.
“You have grown presumptuous.” She knew of his reputation.
Few, if any, women ever told him nay. ’Twas said the wenches who had gone to his bed did not leave disappointed.
It made her angry to think they had some part of him she never would.
He drew close and whispered, “We were once friends, Merewyn. We could be more.”
She jerked her head back. “Nay, I will not be one of your women.” Angry with herself for so willingly falling into his arms, she stepped away. Even now, his nearness caused her heart to flutter in her chest and her body to want more of his kisses. “Are they all willing?”
“Most are, but I did not invite every woman to walk with me, Merewyn. Only you. ’Tis not all women I want.” He stepped closer. “But I do want you, Merewyn.”
His bold assumption that he might have her if he but wanted her was the final stroke. She turned on her heels and ran out of the stable.