STEPHEN, PACING BACK AND forth across the courtyard, saluted the watch on their rounds of the castle. Unable to sleep, he had left the chamber he shared with Matilda and his children to seek the cool night air, hoping it would clear his head. The hours he had spent at the feast were among the worst he had ever endured, forced to witness Maud’s initial shock at his calculated coldness, then the subsequent cloud of misery that settled over her. It had been unnecessarily cruel, he realized, and he owed her an explanation for his behavior. Far better to tell her the truth: It was highly dangerous to pursue a liaison—both of them were married, they could have no future together, the risk was great, and the rewards transistory. Not to mention the fact that she was his first cousin. He could not, of course, tell her of his decision to allow nothing and no one to interfere with his reach for the crown.
Stephen reached the wall and turned, remembering, with a pang, how beautiful she had appeared at the feast. Her gray eyes, almost charcoal against the milky pallor of her face, had been swimming with unshed tears; her coral lips, trembling slightly, had the look of a vulnerable, hurt child. Her bosom, heaving with suppressed emotion, strained against the shimmering green silk of her tunic, and he had wanted to reassure her even as he felt his loins stir with desire.
A faint sound caught his attention. Looking up, he saw a wraithlike form gliding toward him.
“Stephen.”
The whispered voice floating eerily across the courtyard was familiar. As the form came closer he recognized Maud, and caught his breath. With her hair flowing down her back, her face silvery in the moonlight, she looked like a ghost.
“What do you here, Cousin?” Stephen asked, glancing anxiously around to see if any of the guards were in sight.
“I saw you from my window,” Maud replied, her voice shaking. Distraught, she stopped to collect herself. “I can’t understand why you’re so cold. What have I done to offend you? I believed—I thought that between us … I—” Her voice choked and she could not continue.
Stephen felt as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart. With a supreme effort he stopped himself from taking her into his arms.
“Forgive me, I handled matters very badly, and I do intend to explain,” he said, forcing his voice to sound calm and reasonable. “I didn’t mean to be so cold, but there was simply no opportunity to tell you how matters now stood.”
“And how do they stand?” she asked in a low, intense tone.
“Whatever our feelings for each other may have been,” Stephen began tentatively, “it is unthinkable that we should continue—that is to say, there cannot be any repetition of what happened between us. You are also married now, with grave responsibilities. It is too dangerous, and no good can come of it. We must dismiss any thought—”
“But I love you,” she interjected fiercely, her eyes enormous. “I thought you loved me.”
Stephen did not speak. Love? Yes, in his own way, he loved her. But in truth the concept had little meaning for him. Certainly he found her exciting, responsive, empathetic, and infinitely desirable; he wanted her more than he had ever wanted a woman in his life. But love?
He was spared the necessity of answering by the return of the watch.
“A fine night, my lord,” one of the guards called, with a snicker in his voice.
Thank God it was too dark for him to recognize Maud.
“Indeed,” he rejoined, quickly pulling her into his arms.
The gesture had been made to conceal her identity, but the moment Maud’s body touched his, Stephen knew he had made a fatal mistake. Her response was immediate, like a torch set to dry brush. The dark mantle she wore fell away as her arms suddenly twined round his neck, and he could tell that under the loose tunic she wore no gown. Her breasts felt heavy and firm, the points hardening against his chest; her thighs pressed close to his, and her heart thudded against his ribs. Maud’s head fell back, her eyes closed, and her lips parted. Stephen was not prepared for the flame of desire that swept through him, scorching in its intensity; he had forgotten this treacherous tide of feeling that overcame reason, duty, even his own sense of survival.
For a moment he stared transfixed at her upturned face, then hungrily covered the waiting lips with his own. Her mouth was warm and tasted of honey, and as Stephen felt the curves of her body mold to his own the last of his resistance melted like wax before flame. His hands sought the fullness of her breasts and his fingers caressed the hard pointed nipples through the cloth of her garment. When he heard her ragged breath, he pulled up the skirts of her tunic and chemise, slid a hand down the length of her soft belly and found the silky mound of her sex. She was warm, moist, and throbbing with her need of him. Her body trembled when his fingers touched her and a choked gasp escaped her lips. Intoxicated by her response, his senses reeling, it was all he could do not to take her right where they stood.
The sound of footsteps forced them quickly apart. Maud pulled down her garments and turned her back just as two guards passed by on the other side of the courtyard. Deep in conversation they gave Stephen and Maud an incurious glance, and passed on.
“This is madness,” Stephen whispered, his heart pounding. “Someone is sure to recognize you. I beg you go inside lest I take you here and now and destroy us all.”
Maud, her face radiant in the moonlight, gave him a tremulous smile. In a moment she was gone, gliding away with an easy grace, leaving him alone in the moonlit courtyard with aching loins and the knowledge that he was once again enslaved.
Stephen returned to his chamber, and fell into an uneasy sleep. Next morning he was tense and out of sorts, his desire to possess Maud a raging thirst demanding to be quenched. Unable to decide on a course of action that would ease the conflict, somehow he managed to get through the day. That night, hoping to blot out his cousin’s image, he made love to his dutifully submissive wife. But far from satisfying him, the night’s work only served to increase his hunger for Maud.
For the next few days reason continued to war against need. When he saw Maud at meals or in company with her father, the connection between them was so strong, he was sure everyone must notice it. What was he to do? If his brother were here, Henry’s cold logic might have a dampening effect on his ardor. But the Bishop of Winchester was busy attending to his newly acquired See and had not attended the court. He was alone; only Matilda’s continued presence prevented him from committing what instinct told him would be an irreparable folly. In any case there was nowhere to bed his cousin, as the castle afforded no privacy. Day in and day out both he and Maud were surrounded by people.
A week later the festivities were over. Matilda and the children left Windsor in company with Robin of Leicester’s wife, Arnica. Their departure was followed by that of King Henry and Queen Alix. Maud seemed in no hurry to return to London, and Stephen found himself making excuses not to go. Brian and Robert left for their respective lands, and Waleran of Muelan returned to Normandy. Robin of Leicester stayed on.
The remainder of the barons left and the castle was now virtually empty, with only the castellan and a skeleton staff left to service the needs of the few remaining guests.
The morning after everyone had gone, Stephen, restless and chafing for action, decided to go hawking. He collected Gervase, searched in vain for Robin, then walked down to the falcon mews. After careful deliberation, he decided on a white peregrine from Iceland, similar to one he had at the Tower. Her head was covered in an old leather hood adorned with bright feathers and faded gold thread. The bells attached to her feet were of tarnished silver and inscribed with the insignia of his grandfather, Duke William of Normandy.
The bells had rung for Tierce when Stephen and Gervase rode over the drawbridge and onto a wide road that led to the river. With the falcon perched on his wrist, Stephen was followed on foot by the fewterer who led two hounds: a bercelet who hunted by sight, and a brachet who hunted by scent. They followed a well-worn path along the Thames embankment, then veered away from the river. Soon the castle was lost to view. Presently they came to a large meadow backed by a dark forest.
Unleashed, the hounds bounded out of sight in the green sea of grass. Moments later a flock of squawking partridges flew upwards. Stephen unhooded his falcon and cast her off his wrist. She mounted into the deep blue of the sky, positioning herself above one of the birds. In a flash of white she stooped, digging her talons into the gray partridge. The stricken bird flapped lower and lower, carrying the falcon into the woods flanking the meadow.
“Jesu!” Stephen exclaimed to his squire. “I must go into the woods after her. Wait here in case she flies back. I will take the dogs.”
He rode to the edge of the woods, dismounted, and plunged into the trees while Gervase and the fewterer waited in the meadow. A few feet into the forest, Stephen found himself on what had once been a well-marked path, now overgrown with brambles and thick foliage. The dogs raced ahead and were lost to view. Making his way through the thick underbrush, he suddenly found himself in an open clearing. In the center, beside a small cabin made of rough-hewn logs, the falcon, its white head covered in blood, had bought her quarry to ground. The dogs were nowhere in sight. Stephen called softly to the bird, withdrew a dead pigeon from the large purse at his belt and threw it to the ground. Leaving the dead partridge, the falcon flew to her reward.
Curious, Stephen walked up to the cabin, which resembled an old hunting lodge that had seen better days. Suddenly he heard the sound of a groan coming through the partially opened door and froze in his tracks. Careful to make no sound, Stephen withdrew the knife at his belt, crept up to the door and, holding the knife aloft, peered inside. What he saw made him catch his breath. Robin of Leicester lay naked on a wide bedspread with a faded blue coverlet, fondling a slender youth whom Stephen vaguely remembered seeing about the castle. One of the pages or someone’s squire, he thought. It was the boy, writhing in the grip of pleasure, who had groaned.
Stephen’s foot scraped against the door, and he hastily stepped back, but not before Robin’s head had turned sharply. For an instant their eyes met. Without waiting to see more, Stephen sheathed his knife, and closed the door just as the two dogs, barking and wagging their tails, bounded into the clearing. The bercelet ran to the partridge and lifted her gently into his red jaws. Stephen called the falcon to him, hooded her, and went back into the forest, followed by the dogs.
He was surprised by what he had just witnessed, and uncertain what to make of it. Everyone was aware that men existed who enjoyed the favors of other men as well as women. In fact, he had heard that on the crusade to the Holy Land, sodomy was not uncommon, despite the strictures of Holy Church. But that one of these men should be his close friend, the Earl of Leicester of the powerful House of Muelan, one of the oldest and proudest families in Normandy—certainly this would take some getting used to.
“What is that old cabin in the clearing?” he asked the fewterer when he returned to the meadow.
“A hunting lodge, my lord, built for the old king, William Rufus, these many years ago. They do say Red Rufus used it for hunting prey other than game, if you take my meaning.” He winked at Stephen. “Not used now, of course.”
Stephen whistled softly. So this was where his infamous uncle, the Red King, had brought his catamites. What irony that it was being used for the same purpose now.
“You say no one uses this place?” he asked the fewterer as they rode out of the meadow.
“Not that I know of, my lord. The verderers keep it up in case the King wants to use it, but he never has done.”
Before he left the meadow, Stephen cast a quick glance behind him. It was not apparent from this vantage point that there was a path leading into the woods, much less a clearing with a lodge in it. Thoughtful, he rode back to Windsor.
After Vespers in the chapel, Stephen approached Robin and drew him aside.
“I’m sorry about this afternoon, Robin,” he said. “If I had had any idea—”
Robin met his gaze with steady blue eyes. “There is naught for you to be sorry about. Although I would be grateful for your discretion in this matter.”
“Naturally, I will say nothing. Does Waleran know—” Stephen paused. It was an awkward question and he could not think why he had asked it.
“Of my predilection?” Robin gave him a grim smile. “Naturally not. Waleran has no tolerance for anyone or anything that differs even slightly from his view of traditional values and custom. That is one of the reasons he has taken against Maud so strongly.”
Embarrassed, Stephen did not know what to say. “It is none of my affair, but Holy Church takes a dim view of such … practices. I trust you will be careful.”
Robin cocked his head to one side. “I see this matter is more of a trouble to you than to me. Be easy, my friend. I have long come to terms with my inner nature. After all, in the end we can only be what we are, whether for good or ill.” He searched Stephen’s face. “You must take me as I am, you know.”
With a sudden spurt of affection, Stephen grasped Robin’s hand. “And so I do, with all my heart. I judge no man because his tastes differ from mine. We need not speak of this again.” He took a deep breath. Attempting to keep his voice casual, he asked: “Is the lodge usually empty?”
“I have always found it so on the rare occasions when I make use of it. Why?”
“Well, in truth, there is a tempting wench here in the kitchens that I have long had my eye on—”
Robin held up his hand in silence. “You need not explain. To each his own. I will tell my squire to have the place in readiness. When do you wish to use it?”
Stephen thought for a moment. “Tomorrow, if all goes as planned. One more favor, by your leave. If necessary would you say that we go hunting together?”
Robin looked amused. “Of course. By God’s death, you take a lot of trouble for a kitchen wench, my friend. You can just as easily tumble her in the stables.”
Stephen grew red but was saved from answering by the steward’s horn calling the castle to supper.
When they came into the great hall, Stephen noticed that the castellan of Windsor was being served by a willowy youth with hair the color of ripe corn. Robin’s catamite. Stephen sat down next to Maud, who greeted him with a smile.
A dish of stewed hare was set before them. Stephen took a piece in his fingers, and carried it, dripping, to Maud’s mouth. She opened her lips and nibbled at the meat, playfully catching one of his fingers in her mouth. Inexplicably, the touch of her wet lips against his finger aroused him to fever pitch.
“Would you care to go hunting with me tomorrow?” he heard himself say.
“Yes,” she replied in a breathless voice.
Their eyes locked. Stephen remained on fire for the rest of the meal, barely able to refrain from touching her. He wondered how he would survive until tomorrow, so impatient was he to have his cousin at last.
Directly after breaking his night’s fast, Stephen met Robin in the courtyard. The Earl of Leicester and his party of grooms and huntsmen were already mounted.
“We will go on, Stephen, do you join us on the road,” Robin said in a loud voice for the benefit of anyone in the courtyard who might be listening. With a wave and a wink he led his party out of the courtyard.
A few moments later Maud appeared with her groom.
“We do not need another groom,” Stephen said. “We will join the Earl of Leicester’s party.”
“Very well,” Maud said, her cheeks suddenly flushing. She dismissed her groom and let Stephen help her mount the white palfrey.
She knows, Stephen realized in relief, somehow she knows what will happen and comes willingly. He could already feel her warm and naked in his arms.
In silence they rode across the drawbridge and onto the path along the embankment. Following the road, they veered away from the river and finally came to the meadow. When they reached the edge of the woods, Stephen dismounted, helped Maud down, and tethered their horses to a tree. He took her hand, and for a moment she hesitated, looking up at him with a slight question in her eyes.
“There is no danger,” he said. “Trust me.”
She nodded, and without a word followed him into the woods and down the tangled path until they came upon the clearing.
“What place is this?” Maud asked, stopping in surprise.
“It belonged to our Uncle William Rufus.”
“Indeed?” She ran lightly across the grassy clearing to the door of the lodge. “How did you find it?”
“Stumbled upon it by chance,” Stephen said, following her through the door.
Inside, there were fresh rushes on the floor, the room had been aired, and there was a pile of newly cut logs on the hearth as well as water in a large iron cauldron. A flagon of wine and several wooden cups stood on a scarred oak table. Robin had been true to his word. Everything was in readiness.
Pulling off her leather gauntlets, Maud examined the lodge with interest. Suddenly unable to meet her eye, Stephen found himself tongue-tied as an awkward silence settled over them. Now that the long-awaited moment had arrived, Stephen did not know how to proceed. His heart pounded, the blood sang in his ears, but he felt like an untried youth about to bed his first woman and terrified of the outcome. He was so unnerved that when he poured himself a cup of wine, his hand trembled, dashing the cup against the table and spilling half the amber liquid. As he handed her the cup their fingers touched; without a word, Stephen took the cup out of her hand. In one fluid movement they came together.
Within moments their clothes lay heaped in the rushes, their naked bodies straining against each other, starved for one another’s touch. Maud’s lips were warm and yielding; the feel of her slender, taut body, the silky smoothness of her skin, and the firm peaks of her breasts crushed against him took Stephen’s breath away. She was far more beautiful and exciting than in his wildest imaginings.
Unable to restrain himself a moment longer, Stephen lifted her in his arms and carried her over to the bed. His desire fueled to an unbearable pitch, he could not wait, but covered her body with his own. As he entered her she stiffened, as if in pain, and Stephen paused in surprise. By God’s birth, she felt almost like a virgin! He proceeded more slowly, thrusting forward in sure, steady strokes until, like a delicate flower unfolding its petals, she opened to receive him.
This coupling had none of the gentleness of their first encounter. Stephen was too greedy, too hot to do anything but assuage the urgency of his own overpowering need. And hers, too, he soon discovered to his amazed delight. Maud blazed with passion, her body arching to meet his, matching his movements with a wild abandon that thrilled him. Together they merged, reaching a pinnacle of joy as one rapturous flesh.
After a time Stephen opened his eyes. He was lying on his side, Maud in his arms, his lips resting on her cheek, one hand curved around her breast. She seemed to be asleep. The arm on which she lay had gone numb but he was reluctant to shift it for fear of waking her. Closing his eyes again, he nestled his face against hers. A delicious contentment filled him, and he felt he could lie here, just as he was, for the rest of his life, no future to strive for, no past to regret. All that mattered was the wonder of this moment. He could give no name to what had happened to him, but never before in his life had he experienced anything remotely like it.
“Stephen.”
Maud’s voice, soft and languorous, penetrated his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he met her gaze. Her face was luminous, softer than he had ever seen it; a wondering smile played about her lips.
“Yes, ma belle?” he whispered against her mouth.
“I wanted to be sure you were real, not a dream.”
“Real enough, I assure you.” He laughed, hugging her to his chest.
She sighed luxuriously. “Even in my dreams I could not imagine such happiness.” She lay quiet in his arms, running her fingers through the pelt of golden hair covering his chest.
“Nor I,” Stephen said, burying his face in the soft valley between her breasts.
She stroked his head and asked, “Have we been here long?”
Time. He sighed. By God’s birth, he had forgotten all about the time. They must be back at the same hour as Robin so that it would appear as if they had all gone hunting together. Springing out of bed, he ran to the door, opening it a crack. The clearing was deserted. Pushing the door open more widely, he looked up at the sun. Less than two hours to Vespers, he reckoned. Just barely time to dress and ride back to Windsor.
“We must leave, ma belle,” Stephen said, searching in the rushes for his clothes. “We cannot arrive too long after Robin, so let us hurry.”
Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, Maud stretched, throwing back her head and raising her arms over her head. She rose from the bed, yawning, and walked naked over to the cauldron of water. Taking a linen cloth from a pile on the floor, she dipped it in the water and began to wash herself, her movements neat and deft as a cat.
Stephen’s eyes traveled upward from her arched white feet to the long legs and rounded thighs ending in the apex of the copper-colored triangle, the curve of hip that flowed into a narrow waist and strong rib cage that supported the swell of her generous breasts with their rosy pointed nipples. Then the white arc of her neck, the soft oval of her face framed by a waterfall of gleaming russet hair, the coral lips, slightly parted in a smile, and, finally, the wide gray eyes, radiating love, acknowledging his admiration with pride. She was so lovely that Stephen, stirred to his depths, felt an unbearable ache in his chest.
Maud finished her toilet, dressed quickly, coiled her hair around her ears, and followed Stephen out of the lodge. Outside she stood stock-still gazing in amazement at the scene before them.
“Surely this place was not so lovely when we arrived,” she murmured. “Someone has cast a spell of enchantment over it.”
Tiny white flowers dotted the mossy earth and tall trees raised green-budded branches toward a deep blue sky. The scent of new grass blew on the breeze, and the sound of birdsong filled the balmy air.
“Perhaps we view the world with new eyes,” Stephen said.
Hands intertwined, Maud and Stephen followed the path through the woods. Just before they entered the meadow, Stephen stopped and took her in his arms. Looking down into her eyes, he found them misted with tears. He wiped the crystal drops away with a tender finger, his heart so full he felt it would overflow.
“Somehow we will find a way to be with each other,” he whispered.
He bent to kiss her on her softly parted lips, the kiss becoming deeper and deeper until they reeled apart, unsteady on their feet, breathing heavily. As they walked out of the woods and into the sunlit meadow, what came to Stephen’s mind were the words Maud had said to him in the chamber at Westminster three years ago: “You have lit a fire, Cousin, that will not be so easy to put out.”
The words echoed disturbingly in his ears. Was he to be consumed by that same flame?