~ 6 ~

The manor folk were beginning to gather to celebrate the completion of spring planting. Laughter and loud greetings echoed around the meadow next to the house. Anlin realized Faulk was wise to give the people such a festive occasion. Of course, to her surprised discomfort, she was discovering Faulk was wise about many things.

Anlin leaned against the trunk of a sprawling oak, resting and enjoying the scent of fresh-turned earth that floated on the soft breeze. She’d overseen the preparation of the food and the moving of the trestle tables to the meadow. At least, she’d gone through the motions so it would appear to most that she’d been in charge. She knew it would have been a woeful celebration had everything been left to her. Fortunately, the household staff at the manor knew how such things should be organized and covered for her lack of knowledge.

The last month had been a bizarre mix of boredom and panic. Anlin had had only minimal training in what the lady of the manor was supposed to do. Her fostering at Hannon’s Heights had given her some grounding, but she’d been a captive in Rennic during the period when the bulk of her education should have taken place. The skills she’d developed as a slave were not needed here. At White Ford there was staff to care for the animals. At White Ford there was staff to prepare food. At White Ford there was staff to sweep floors and clean fireplaces and skin animals.

The Lady of White Ford wasn’t really supposed to do any of these things, but she was expected to be able to oversee others doing it. Even in her areas of limited competence, however, the scale was so different she might as well have known nothing. She knew what to do with the milk of one or two cows, but what did one do with the milk of ten?

“Make cheese,” the housekeeper quickly declared with confidence. It sounded good, but how did one go about doing this? Anlin had had to ask how to accomplish basic tasks at every turn. The chatelaine keys she wore on her belt seemed to laugh at her when they tinkled. She may control the locked cupboards at White Ford, but she had no idea if people were stealing massive amounts whenever she opened them.

Since there was nothing she was competent to do, time hung heavy on her hands. The stables and the barn called to her. The quiet acceptance of the animals had always been a balm to her soul. Her first foray into that territory, however, led to a direct order from Faulk.

“Do not go out there again,” he said. “It makes the stablemen nervous. They don’t know what to do with you there.”

“Then what am I supposed to do with my time?” she asked.

“Sew. Make something. That’s what the ladies I’ve known do. The hall could use some nice hangings. A tapestry or something similar.” He looked at her with infinite patience. She was coming to hate that look. “Can you do that?”

No, she couldn’t. She had neither the talent nor the inclination. But she hated to say this, so she just nodded in what might be construed as a positive response. She did not want to admit she was a failure at every task associated with running a manor. So, when she didn’t have something else to occupy her time, she hid in the solar. Perhaps Faulk thought she was happily making a wall hanging. He never asked, though. He never mentioned the lack of a tapestry frame. He seemed to notice very little about her.

They slept in the same bed, but that was all they did, sleep. After the first night, Faulk had announced he would not again sit in a Cheelum damned chair and that since he was the lord, he would use the bed in the lord’s chamber. He cared not where Anlin laid her head.

For the first week, she’d stayed in a chair, on the floor, anywhere but the bed. One night, exhaustion made her collapse in the bed long before Faulk arrived from the hall. When she awoke, he lay beside her. But he made no move to touch her that night or any night since. They lay in isolation like effigies on a tomb. One night she came awake to find the bed pulsing in time with his hand as he found his own release, but he did not then, or since, turn toward her.

She didn’t want anything to do with him. She knew this. But a loneliness closed around her that was different from any she’d known.

Anlin’s morose thoughts scattered when a noise arose from the corner of the village and the plow team came into view, joyously followed by those who were just quitting the fields. The two big oxen moved at their customary slow pace, massive heads and broad horns swinging from side to side with every step. The horns had been decorated with green ribbons and, as the team drew closer, Anlin could hear the jingle of bells.

The realization these were the ribbons and bells from her wedding procession made her feel a flash of sadness. It was a ridiculous emotion. When her maid Hilmar had brought the bells and ribbons to her as a keepsake, Anlin had said that they were of no importance. But seeing these items now put to a different use caused an ache in her chest.

She’d thought the trappings of their wedding had held some significance for Faulk. Not that he’d said so directly. Faulk never talked to her about anything of importance. Oh, when they sat on the dais at meals, with many eyes watching them, he talked expansively about his plans for the fief, and he talked about the weather and the crops, but that was the extent of their conversations. Whenever he inadvertently met her in the courtyard or the hall, he was always polite. Distant and polite. As if taking their cue from Faulk, everyone else on the fief treated her the same way.

Sweet Cheelum, she was lonely. Since Faulk had forbidden her the solace of working with the animals, she tried to find contentment in riding, traveling to the furthest boundaries of the fief. Whenever she did so, she was always followed by either Kevin or Waylon, the two new men-at-arms that Faulk had brought to the fief. Followed. Respectfully and politely followed, not ridden with, not talked to, but never out of their vigilant sight.

The only time she and Faulk had made any sort of connection was the morning after their wedding feast. Looking back, this had probably been what led to all the following politeness.

She’d awakened in the pre-dawn hours, surprisingly alone. The faint streaks of light creeping across the dark sky called to her. She’d slipped on a tunic and, barefoot, had stealthily opened the bedchamber door and crossed into the solar. A hand shot out and grasped her wrist. She jerked with surprise.

“Where are you going, milady?” Faulk was a darker lump in the darkness, insubstantial and unreal, but his hand felt like an iron shackle.

“I was, I was…” What? Escaping? In need of the garderobe? No, the truth. “I was going outside to watch the sunrise.”

He sifted his weight and released her wrist. “Is this your normal behavior or are you in distress?”

“I usually waken before the sun.”

“Oh.” Then there was only a lengthy silence. Anlin wasn’t sure what she should do.

“Last night was…” His voice trailed away. “I’ve never forced a woman. I promise I will not force you. I won’t rut with you like a wild boar. And I don’t want you to act the whore for me.” Faulk sounded as if he spoke from a distance, even though she knew he hadn’t moved.

She felt confused, disoriented, there in the dark without a visible anchor. “But you made it plain you wanted heirs to follow you. And I agreed to it from the first. I’m well able to endure it.”

“Endure it?” His voice was a growl. Faulk stalked toward the window, stopped part way across the room, and turned back toward her. He was a broad, dark shadow against the hint of gray in the sky. “All you anticipate is endurance?”

What did he want her to say? What did he expect? There was obviously something in the act that men liked, or else why would they do it even when procreation wasn’t the desired result? She had a vague remembrance of men taking her before she learned to escape into the peaceful place in her mind, and even they had seemed to be in pain, stiffening and moaning. She often wondered if it were some sort of penance placed on humans to ensure that their offspring would be born without sin.

“It is a penance I’ll gladly endure, if it means the return of my son,” she said without thinking. Faulk just stood there, taking deep breaths. She wished she could see his face. Into the silence, she ventured, “When do you think we will be able to leave for Rennic?”

He turned from her then and went into the bedchamber. In silhouette, she saw him pull on braies and hose and drop a tunic over his head. He didn’t speak, but she could hear his breathing, harsh and deep. He approached her, standing close.

“I’m sorry you think of being married to me as a penance.” He sounded angry. No, beyond angry, furious. “I’ll try to bother you as little as possible.”

Anlin suddenly feared that Faulk would go back on their agreement. That he wouldn’t take her into Rennic to look for Telm. “We will soon go to Rennic, though,” she said, hating the quiver in her voice.

His open palm slapped the wall behind her with such speed, the noise so loud in the morning silence, that she cried out. The brutal warrior she originally thought she’d married suddenly loomed over her. The man with the shy smile and bells and ribbons had vanished.

“Have I not sworn it?” He seemed to force the words from is throat. “I keep my bargains, as I expect you to keep yours. At some point you will come to me and we will make my heirs together.” He strode from the room.

When she reached the hall, she heard a loud chopping sound. She followed it to the area outside the gate and saw Faulk methodically attacking a tree with his sword. His movements looked like a deadly dance, controlled and powerful. The pale morning light showed that the tree was deeply girdled.

If Faulk knew she was there, he ignored her. He just kept pounding the tree with great sweeping strokes, sweat running down his face and darkening his hair.

He left that afternoon, saying nothing to her. She wondered if he were gone for good, perceiving his anger but not understanding it. He returned two days later with Kevin and Waylon, saying only that the fief could support two fighting men and that her father was pleased. From that time onward, the early morning rang with the clang of metal on metal, the two men-at-arms taking turns sparring with Faulk. The girdled tree, however, put forth few leaves and seemed destined to die.

From his return until now, Faulk had been distantly polite.

Anlin felt she knew no more about her husband than she had on the day they’d met. He remained a mystery, his behavior unknown and unknowable. The one thing that was abundantly clear was that he was a good steward of the land he held. Most of the people on the fief liked him, villein and freeman alike responding to his keen interest and ready smile. But those who shirked their work or who sullenly performed their tasks saw a stern-faced Faulk, and they rapidly did their work out of fear.

With Anlin, he neither smiled nor frowned. He remained blandly courteous.

“Lady Anlin.” Waylon’s lanky form had appeared by her side while she was woolgathering. “Sir Faulk asks if you’d join him and the priest for the libations to Cheelum.”

“Of course,” she said, carefully resting her hand on the man-at-arms’ sleeve and allowing him to guide her to where a cask of ale had just been tapped. She stood next to Faulk, the priest on his other side. Faulk gave her a quick smile, genuine and heartfelt. She felt her own heart lift.

The fief’s inhabitants milled around, ready to begin the celebration. The priest held a shiny copper cup beneath the froth of ale and then stood, raising the cup over his head. The crowd quieted.

“Cheelum admonishes us to plant our fields with joy so that we may harvest the same,” the priest intoned. “Today our toil is done and we pray for the arrival of green shoots of joy.”

He then spilled some of the ale onto the earth and the assembled people called out, “Green shoots and joy.”

Then there was a general movement toward the ale casks and Faulk pulled her back from the surge. “It’s good to celebrate a task accomplished,” he said. “Now we can only pray for the right amount of sun and the right amount of rain. If all that we’ve planted flourishes, we’ll have plenty of fodder to winter over some sheep, and we’ll be able to get them cheap in the fall.” Anlin had heard a great deal of talk about sheep and how well they’d do on the higher pastures. Faulk was already planning where to put shearing sheds and carding houses. All he lacked were the actual sheep.

She felt the enthusiasm radiating from him as they walked back across the meadow, as he smiled and nodded to people who called greetings. She relished this moment when Faulk seemed to have forgotten to be polite to her, when his reactions were genuine. He was genuinely happy. He walked her back to the tree where she’d earlier been standing, however. Anlin suspected he was soon to leave her in splendid isolation while he returned to the throng.

“How soon do you want to leave for Rennic?” he asked.

Anlin was caught off guard, had not expected him to speak of this now, in the middle of the celebration, but the joy that the priest had prayed for surged through her. Without thought, she swung about, grabbing Faulk around the waist and hugging him. “Two days,” she said, looking up at his starkly sculpted face, gazing into his amazing green-flecked eyes. “I can be ready to leave in two days.”

He seemed surprised to find her pressed up against him, but his arms slowly came around her shoulders, holding her lightly. “Is this what it took to thaw you?” he asked. “You knew I’d sworn to go when the planting was done.”

His eyes never left hers as his hand slid along her shoulder and gently cupped the back of her neck. Then he leaned down and lightly brushed her lips with his. The touch of a feather, the weight of a sigh, but Anlin felt that touch to her toes. It was an odd, fluttery feeling, nice in a way, but then he pulled her tighter to him and she felt the beginning of panic. She unconsciously jerked back from him—and he let her go.

He left her by the tree and made his way back into the crowd. Different people came up to talk to her, and she tried to be gracious. Her eyes followed Faulk’s progress, however. Saw him talking and smiling to those around him. Saw that hers were not the only eyes that stayed on Faulk. Hilmar, her maid, also watched with the look of a hungry child barred from a feast. Anlin could not name the reason this bothered her.

That night she waited for him in the solar. She wanted to make sure he knew she had almost everything ready for their journey. She felt she needed to remind him they had to retrieve the silver her father had promised as ransom for her son. While she waited, she paced between a table and the fireplace. She would not go to sleep. She couldn’t take the chance that he would avoid her as he usually did. She didn’t want there to be any question of his going back on his word.

She was finally rewarded by his tread on the stairs. When he pushed open the door, he seemed surprised to see her there. “Still up?”

“Yes, I wanted to show you some of the maps I’ve drawn of parts of Rennic and to discuss the supplies you think we should take. Of course, if we’re gone a year, we’ll have to get supplies as we go…” She had moved toward the table, conscious of Faulk following in her wake.

“We won’t be gone a year,” he said. “I’d hoped to be back by harvest, or before the snows close the passes at the latest.”

“You agreed to a year!” Anlin felt a crashing disappointment. He was trying to go back on their agreement.

“It’s not going to take a year.” Faulk had come up beside her and was leaning over the desk, looking at the maps. “These are good,” he said. “Are they accurate?”

“Of course, they’re accurate. What good would they be if they weren’t?” Anlin had been planning her return to Rennic since she’d escaped and had spent weeks carefully recreating the features and trails she remembered. She might not be able to weave a tapestry, but she could draw a map. “And what makes you think that our search will take less than a year?”

“Your maps show it,” Faulk said, smoothing out a crimped corner on the largest map. “Rennic is a small country. Yes, it’s very mountainous and there could be many hidden valleys in which to search. But why would they hide the boy if they could exchange him for more money than they could possible steal in a year. If he’s there, the Rennish themselves will find him.”

“You don’t know the Rennish.”

“You’re right. I only know the few who trade near the pass that borders on Hannon land. And those would have gladly given us their grandmother if the price were right. The biggest problem we had in the border keep where I was stationed was pilferage.”

“As I said, you don’t know the Rennish. The men we’ll meet are of a different order than those who haunt the border and pick up Fallucian leavings.” Anger simmered. She knew the Rennish very well.

“Anlin, you must consider that the boy may be dead.” As she opened her mouth to refute him, Faulk continued, “I know you don’t want to consider this, but you must be realistic. I don’t want to make you unnecessarily unhappy.” His voice had lowered and he brought a hand up to lightly stroke the side of her face.

She didn’t know whether to lean into his stroking hand or to pull away from it. Her impulse was to pull away. But she wanted to make sure that Faulk would be totally committed to finding Telm, however long it took. To guarantee this she owed him acquiescence. She leaned into his hand. She would keep her bargain so he would keep his.

Faulk’s reaction was immediate. He gathered her to him, enveloping her, lowering his head to nuzzle the side of her neck. “We’ll find him if he’s there to be found. I promise you.”

It was what she wanted to hear. But the power of his arms surrounding her and her feeling of vulnerability frightened her. She felt tremors shake her body.

“It’s alright,” he said, running his hand down her back, pulling her against him. “We can make this work.” Then he kissed her. He nibbled at her lower lip rather than pressing tight. His tongue traced the edges of her mouth. Excitement and fear fought each other. She could feel his erection pressing into her stomach and knew, then, what he wanted. What all men wanted.

His hand grazed her breast—and the panic won out. She slipped into the peaceful place of green grass and dew. From a great distance, she heard someone say, “Shit!”