Chapter 9
Noddington was a busy little town of stone, brick, and timber, with shops and inns that lined the small cobbled streets. Houses cuddled in close lanes with jutting roofs and bayed windows. Because of the fair the town was teeming. And Linnet could hardly take it all in.
They crossed the stone bridge to a meadow where the winding river was fringed with trees and where the fair was bustling.
Each booth, decorated gaily with batting of bright colors, sold something new and different—lengths of raye, a fabric that fairly took on the sheen of the stars, an odd- looking mechanical clock that wouldn't freeze in winter like the water clocks did, and powerful crossbows, weapons of such deadly accuracy that they had been forbidden by Rome until recently.
There was hot spiced wine, fresh bread, and meat pies.
Country vegetables and sweet Eastern dates.
And William bought her one of everything scrumptious.
There were lively dancers and minstrels who sang songs of the magic of midsummer's eve.
Puppeteers and actors became fairies and sprites, forest animals that took on human form, all to celebrate this special time of year—a time when flowers bloomed and hearts were light.
Linnet and William watched the acrobats tumble and trained dogs frolic. There was even a huge gray and wrinkled elephant that roared like a trumpet and spit water high in the air.
William bought her lengths of fine cloth, two of the raye, and a silver comb, to keep the sunset in her hair, he had told her.
He filled her with comfits and sweetmeats until she thought she might burst. He showed her every sight and every new thing with patience and laughter and care.
Many was the time she caught him watching her closely, as if her happiness were the most important thing to him.
But it was his smile and laughter that were the true gifts of the day.
'Twas one of the best times of her life, and she knew she would never think of midsummer's eve without remembering William.
As she strolled through the fair, she wished, somehow, to repay him.
She knew his pride would accept nothing from her, nothing valuable.
She had been trying to find a gift for him when she spied a man with pilgrim badges sewn to his hat and coat.
He was hawking pardons from Rome which he carried in a sack on his bent back.
"William?" She tugged on his shirtsleeve.
"Aye?"
"I think we should buy some pardons."
He frowned.
She pointed toward the pilgrim and he laughed and handed her a handful of silver coins. She shook her head. "This purchase is mine," she told him. She bought William a pardon for every curse he had spoken this past week, and a few extra for the future. She ran back and tucked them in his arms.
He looked at them. "God's teeth! What the devil are these for?"
She gave him a wry look. "I doubt there are enough pardons in the world, William, to assuage your blasphemous tongue."
"Christ in Heaven . . ." he swore with a grin. "That might just bloody damn well be."
She shook her head and followed him until he stopped to eye a collection of mail in a booth set up by the local armorer.
She watched him barter and banter and bluster, and she jabbed him with her elbow when he tried to trade her cats for a mailed tunic.
Finally he asked her to choose the mail and she picked one in less time than it took to blink.
"That was simple," he said, surprised. "Why that one?"
"Because it shines the most," she replied, thinking secretly that he was a knight who should have shining armor.
He bought the mail she had chosen, saying he thought he'd need it if he were challenged again.
And he was.
They had left the fair hours later, filled with drink and fresh food and fun. They were riding back to the inn to fetch her pets when the yellow knight appeared near a bend in the river. The knight never had a chance.
William took one look at him, roared an ungodly string of curses that used seven more pardons and attacked.
His mail shone in the bright sunlight and his sword flashed with deadly precision, but when he sheathed his sword and drew out the crossbow he'd purchased, the knight stopped cold, turned his mount around, and rode away so fast it was almost as if he had never appeared.
William was in a better mood after that.
Soon the sun had slipped down behind the trees and the moon had risen in the dusky sky. A cart with nail studs clicked over the stones of a small bridge and haymakers were walking home with their long pitchforks resting on their shoulders.
William rode off the highway and over toward a grassy hillock.
"I thought the inn was this way," Linnet said.
"It is!"
She turned her palfrey and followed. "Then why are we traveling this way?"
"Consider it a surprise," he said with an edge of challenge, and he spurred his mount and disappeared over the hillock.
If she hadn't already been in love with William, she would have fallen the moment she saw the tent.
'Twas a tent from the Midsummer's Fair, the largest and finest tent she had seen.
Made from brightly colored fabric with red and blue and yellow stripes, it had pennants waving from the sharp peaks at the top and corners.
But when he pulled back the flaps and she saw all the pillows—stacks of pillows to replace the ones she had lost to the rain, she threw herself into his arms and cried.
He stiffened. "Why are you crying? I had thought to please you."
She sniffled. "You did. You do."
His look was so intent that her breath caught.
"I'll leave you to sleep," he said, then pulled back the flap on the tent. She stopped him with a hand on his arm. "Where are you going to sleep?"
"Outside," he said gruffly. He still wore the mail shirt and other light armor he'd bought.
"This is marshland. There's fog on the damp ground. You'll tarnish your armor."
He gave her a long look, then rubbed his finger over her jaw and across her lips. He tucked a knuckle under her chin and said, "If I stay in here, I think I'll tarnish more than my armor."
She closed her eyes, knowing this decision was hers. She opened them and looked at him. "‘Tis midsummer's eve."
"I know," was all he said.
"A time for magical things to happen."
"Aye."
The silence hung between them. Finally he started to leave.
"William!"
He turned back.
She took a deep breath, then whispered, "I love you." A moment later she was in his arms, his mouth on hers, and he lifted her off the ground.
"Linnet," he murmured. "My sweet bird, Linnet. God, how I want you."
He laid her back in the pillows and joined her. Their clothes fell away, slowly, leaving time to savor each discovery, each soft new touch, each whisper of love against her skin, against his ear. Her name was a prayer on his lips, his name a promise as yet unfulfilled.
For long moments he would just look at her and she had never felt so cherished in her life.
When he touched her and kissed her, he did so as if it were the most important thing he had ever done.
He used his tongue deeply in her mouth and taught her how to respond, how to touch him.
He loved her breasts, her belly and lower with his lips and mouth and sent her to the stars more times than she could imagine.
He kissed and stroked her feet and legs, and in between until she was hoarse from crying out.
She wanted William, wanted to spend every moment with him, wanted this powerful loving between them to last forever. She told him, the moment he entered her, after the pain that made her gasp. And as soon as she spoke the words she could have sworn there were tears in his eyes.
He taught her loving, taught her caring, taught her tenderness and patience and spent eternal moments to assure her pleasure. ‘Twas the most profound moment in her lifetime when she cried out and his life poured into her.
And when their breath slowed and their bodies cooled, he wrapped her hair around them and brought his lips to her ear. "You have sunset in your hair, my love. Sunset."
She smiled. "Does that mean it's going to rain?"
He laughed, a sound that was deep in his chest, but they were so close she felt the sound keenly. "That is why I purchased the tent."
"I adore the tent. But I miss the stars. These past nights at the inns were lonely, William. I missed the sound of your breath and the stars above us."
He rose from their bed and grabbed his sword. In a flash he cut a square flap in the top of the tent. Then completely naked, he bowed, "Your stars, milady."
And it was her turn to cry.