The days passed in a welter of pleasure and sexual indulgence. Karolan felt renewed, made whole, humbled by love. Feelings he had thought long buried surfaced to plague him. It was an uncomfortable experience to feel himself responsible for another person. And yet, it cost him no effort to make Garnetta happy. Her delight was its own reward.
Two mornings after their first joining, he lay on his side, his chin propped on the heel of his hand, looking down at Garnetta as she slept. The curve of her cheek was clear-cut against the silken pillows, her mouth soft, as relaxed as a child’s. The short, spiked hair, now dark at the roots, revealed the exquisite shape of her skull, the delicacy of her neck and shoulders. She had been lovely with her fair hair tumbling around her shoulders, but now, with the glamour of transmutation suffusing her every fibre, she was something finer and rarer.
Conflicting emotions roiled within him. There were truths of which she must be made aware for her own protection, but he was reluctant to break the spell of their happiness. Surely it would not matter if they spent a few more days indulging their senses, getting to know each other. They had been lovers for such a short time. This fabulous intimacy of the flesh and spirit was a wonder to him. He felt consumed by the power of attraction, a humble worshipper before the altar of her flesh. It was clear now that his body fluids could not harm her. During the process of change, her internal chemistry had become the same as his. Might they not found a dynasty of their own? It was something he hardly dared to consider.
Almost hourly, it seemed, Garnetta grew more confident, more poised. He could sense her mind expanding, questioning. Each tiny detail of her persona was enchanting. How fascinating it was to observe the changes in her. She now had a measure of control over the enhancement of all her senses. Her capacity for sexual pleasure was remarkable. Before long she would be moved to test her burgeoning intellect. Then what might she discover?
He had heard her praying, giving thanks to the Virgin and St Catherine, the patron saint of unmarried women, for her deliverance. Her belief in God and all His saints was the matrix of her life. Hardly an hour passed when she did not say a Miserere for the souls of her dead family. No doubt now she would recite countless Ave Marias as penance for her imagined human frailty in lying with him.
He grinned wryly and with a trace of sadness. Soon enough she would question her religious beliefs, as he had done, for her – his – very existence was an affront to God. But he could not bear to wound her with that knowledge at present, she was still so new to his world. He thought of her as a fledgling who was not yet equipped to leave the nest. A surge of fierce protectiveness swept through him. She was more than a lover, she was his salvation, his child. In his arrogance he had never imagined that he could be fearful. His powers set him apart, armoured him against the travails of common men. But no more. Love had made him afraid – for Garnetta and for himself.
Garnetta awoke, but concealed the fact from Karolan. She smiled inwardly, watching him through half-closed lashes. His face was luminous in the light streaming in through the open shutters, his expression soft and unguarded. Her heart turned over with emotion. What an impossible, wonderful situation this was. Out of pain and suffering had come this joy of the body, this lightness of the spirit. Surely this splendour could not be damned as lust, this desire to appear beautiful in Karolan’s eyes could not be vainglory.
There seemed to be a wavering, a trembling in the air to one side of Karolan. She focused on the disturbance, unconsciously utilizing her newly acute sight. The movement in the air became more pronounced. Fascinated she watched as a pattern of striations formed a rib-like web behind Karolan’s shoulder, then melted into nothing. Had she imagined it? No. There was a ripple behind his other shoulder now. This time it was barely a flicker, a silver line that shifted in and out of focus. She followed the movements with her half-closed eyes, keeping her head still. It was like watching the swirling eddies on fast-running water.
As she was about to speak Karolan stiffened and muttered something under his breath. The disturbance in the air ceased at once.
‘What was that?’ she asked sleepily, pushing herself up on her elbows.
Karolan grinned. ‘So you are awake. I thought as much. It was nothing. Some trickery I have been practising in the hope that it will amuse you.’
His long black hair spilled over his broad shoulders. The neck of his linen tunic was wide and the muscles showed under his pale skin as he moved. She reached up and took hold of a lock of his hair, pulling him down and fitting her mouth to his. ‘God give you good day, my lord,’ she murmured against his lips. She loved the taste of him, so sweet and fresh – like rain. Never had she imagined that a man could smell so good, that his skin would feel like silk against her own.
The desire bloomed swiftly within her. It seemed that she could not get a surfeit of this pleasure. It was as if, having discovered that her senses could thrum to the dark, heady notes, they continued to resonate like harp strings, needing only the touch of his hands to give out more of their sweet music. Just being in the same room with him was enough to make her hungry for his touch. Her blood seemed to cry out for him. She found that she wanted to touch him in lewd ways, to engage in forbidden, devilish pleasures. Elation bubbled up in her, for nothing was forbidden between them.
Pushing him backwards laughingly, she straddled him, her thighs pressing against his hard-muscled legs. Swooping down, she bit at his tight male nipples, lashing them with her tongue until he winced in pleasure-pain.
‘Witch-woman,’ he grunted through bared teeth. ‘You are a natural wanton!’
She giggled huskily, revelling in her power to arouse him. He stirred under her, his hands moving bonelessly over her back and buttocks. She avoided his embrace and slid down to lie between his thighs. There was the object of so much pleasure. How potent it looked just now, standing up rigidly, the darkly flushed skin soft as velvet over the engorged centre. And yet how foolish and amusing it was too, with the two stones in their hairy sac, the flaring tip that crested the shaft looking just like a moist, ripe plum.
Reverently she bent close and took the cock in her mouth, feeling the hot beating of his flesh against her tongue. Karolan swore softly and arched his back, surging against her. His response urged her on to greater experimentation. As she sucked and licked at him, she slipped her hand between his legs, stroking gently at the firm pad behind his ballocks. She tasted the salty dew of his pre-emission and exulted in the fact that she could give him such forbidden delights.
When he whispered hoarsely for her to stop, she lifted her head to grin at him before resuming her ministrations. Using her lips to collar the swollen glans she worked up and down the shaft, one hand pressed to his flat belly to hold him down. Karolan uttered a series of sharp cries as she drew him more deeply into the wet cavern of her throat and spilled his seed into her mouth. Amazed at her own capacity for shamelessness she swallowed the hot, slippery fluid, then moved to cover Karolan’s lips with her own. The kiss tasted of salt and heat and something earthy, faintly metallic. When Karolan broke from her embrace, he looked at her with wonder in his eyes.
‘By Hermes, woman, but you learn fast!’
She preened and said playfully. ‘I have the best teacher, do I not, my lord? I can see by your face that you are glad of my skill. And who is this Hermes you are always calling on? Is he a saint?’
Settling her into the crook of his arm, he drew her close. ‘Nay, love, no saint. I was introduced to Greek texts attributed to him whilst in the Holy Land. In time I shall show you these works and many other things besides. Hermes is the mythic patron of the art which has been my life’s work.’
‘What art is that? Already you have told me that you possess the priestly skills of a physician, taught to you by an Arab – for which I have cause to be grateful. Now you admit to being familiar with many teachings of infidels? Should I not fear for your immortal soul?’
There was a hesitation before Karolan replied. Then he said teasingly, ‘You fear for me? I would rather that, than you had fear of me.’
He kissed her lightly. ‘Many have and will again, with good cause. But, you? Never. Remember that, whatever happens. Mark this well. You and I are one.’
She would have asked him to explain, but he began speaking and the moment passed.
‘You know of astronomy – the study of the heavens?’
She nodded, pleased to be able to answer with conviction. ‘I have read of it. The monk engaged by my father to teach me my letters had a great love of learning. He spoke of many things. He said that the study of the heavens is the noblest science.’
‘Ah, then you know also of astrology?’
She nodded again. ‘After God it is the power of the stars and planets which governs the affairs of men. Does not our king, the third Edward, have such an adviser at his court?’
‘Just so. No doubt he consulted him before he set out to do battle with France. You are well informed, Garnetta. It will be a pleasure to tell you of all that I have studied. I have long been a seeker of the truth, fascinated by science, both natural and occult.’ His brow furrowed. ‘Listen to me, Garnetta. You might come to believe that I am a warrior who has stepped into a forbidden country. When you know all you may think badly of me.’
Garnetta kissed his cheek, amused by the seriousness of his expression. She would not allow the curling of unease in her belly to colour her sense of well-being. ‘I know all I need to know of you. You looked into the stars and saw my fate written there. You petitioned God for His help in saving me, asking for His divine mercy and intervention. For how else except with His grace would your skills have had the desired result? I have so much to thank you for, my lord. And I give thanks daily in prayer.’ Her brow wrinkled. ‘One thing puzzles me still. You have not told me why you decided to save me. I am no one special. I have not position or lands.’
That was true, she knew. Karolan had told her that he had made enquiries about the shop in Mercer’s Yard. The bearers had stripped the shelves clear of every roll of cloth before setting a torch to the place. Briefly she mourned for splendour lost. There had been thick worsted and fustians, percale cambrics, maroon samites and raw silks and rare, light shalloon for cloak linings. Latterly her father had invested the last of their money in bolts of dowlas linen from Britanny. She had nothing now, not even the means to buy her way into a nunnery.
Karolan touched her cheek. His smile held pride and tenderness. ‘But you are special, Garnetta. The will to survive was strong within you. Even on the brink of death, you fought so hard to live. Now you are whole, stronger, better than before. Soon you will know just how different you are. You are precious to me, do you realize that? Together we shall achieve such wonders as are only dreamt of.’
His passionate words stole her breath. The doubts which had surfaced briefly evaporated. She would forever give thanks to the Mother of the Lord for bringing her to the attention of this man. Perhaps it was tempting the Devil to think herself so blessed, but she could not help it.
Karolan sat up and pulled her to her feet. ‘Now, no more talk. The morn is advanced. It is time you left this tower and came down to meet the house staff. I’ve told Romane to expect us and to choose a horse for you. I shall teach you to ride. A lady must be on horseback to look over her lord’s demesne.’
She gave a cry of delight, imagining how wonderful it would be to ride beside him. ‘Will you help me dress?’ she asked, indicating the fine woollen tunic which fastened with lacing all the way down the back.
Karolan tightened the laces deftly, then held up a furlined super-tunic for her to slip on. Garnetta raised her hand to her head and smiled ruefully. ‘I must look so ugly. Wait. I will cover my head with a veil.’
He gripped her shoulders and bent to kiss the exposed nape of her neck. ‘You look beautiful as you are. If it were summer I would weave you a chaplet of meadow flowers. Since it is but the fifth week of Lent I will search out some greenery. With a circlet of ivy leaves you’ll look as grand as any May queen!’
The laughter bubbled up inside Garnetta as she laid her hand on Karolan’s arm. Even the ache of losing those she loved had lessened somewhat. The terrible experiences of the sickness and her violation might have been but a bad dream – now was the only reality. Inside the tower, with Karolan at her side, she could forget that people were still dying in the town, that the dead must be piled in the streets. The spectre of the pestilence held no power to harm her here. Oh, but it was a mortal sin to enjoy being closeted in luxury while the world suffered. She was possessed of uncontrollable lusts, dishonoured, damned for catching the guilty thread of pleasure and weaving it into a golden tapestry.
What was the word for the soulless hunger of the flesh? Ah, yes. Concupiscence. There ought to be a better word for the dream-flush brought on by Karolan’s touch. If she was so bad, why was it that she felt such elation – such a bone-deep sense of rightness and well-being? She did not recognize herself as the girl who had been dutiful, self-effacing, obedient to her male betters. Suffering had given her the courage to lay claim to happiness. When the time came to pay, as she knew it surely would, she would face it gladly.
‘Come then, Madam,’ Karolan said. ‘Remember, you are my niece. I’ve been tending your fever in my tower to contain any spread of infection.’
‘That part is true enough,’ she said, swaying gracefully so that her body brushed against him as they descended the stone steps. ‘You’ve been tending to my body’s needs rather well, my lord.’
She sensed rather than heard his withdrawn breath. His long fingers closed over hers, squeezing them gently, managing to convey reassurance and intimacy combined. A flush warmed her skin. It seemed not to matter how often they lay together, the hunger burned deeply and abidingly within them both.
At the bottom of the twisting staircase, they emerged into a small room. Garnetta hardly had time to take in the richness of the wood carving on the wainscotting before she was shown into a vaulted hall. Servants stood in line, shifting from foot to foot with impatience. She hid a smile at the thought of why they had been kept waiting. Did her shamelessness show on her face?
The steward, Romane, stood a little to one side. Garnetta saw a tall, silver-haired man with a slight stoop. He was dressed in a flared black gown, covered with a furlined, quilted surcoat. A huge bunch of keys hung from a belt at his waist. The steward took a step forward, only the slightest hesitation betraying the fact that he was lame. He bowed, his face impassive, but Garnetta saw the flicker of pleased surprise in his faded blue eyes. She wondered what Karolan had told him and glanced to one side to find that Karolan was grinning in a conspiratorial manner. Lifting her chin she prepared to act like a lady.
‘Welcome, my lady,’ Romane said. ‘Allow me to introduce the servants.’ Garnetta smiled as each person was presented. According to their rank, they either nodded or bobbed a curtsy.
‘Pleased to meet ’ee, Ladyship.’
‘God give thee good day, mum.’
After the introductions, Romane offered to accompany Garnetta on a tour of the house before she and Karolan left to go riding. Karolan nodded his assent. ‘I’ll away to the stables and see that the horses are ready. There’s a sweet brown mare I have picked out. Now remember, Romane, you are not to tire Garnetta.’
Romane inclined his head. ‘I understand, my lord. I am pleased to see that your . . . niece is making such a rapid and splendid recovery.’
Garnetta saw the look which passed between them and heard their complicity of tone. The steward knew that she was Karolan’s mistress, but there was nothing in his demeanour to give away the fact. As Karolan turned on his heel, Romane clapped his hands, dispersing the servants. ‘If you will come this way,’ he said pleasantly, standing aside for her to precede him.
‘The original building was a single hall with a solar at the far end,’ he informed her as they passed rooms with lime-washed walls and exposed oak beams. ‘Lord Rakka had an upper floor and staircase built and partitions put in to make a number of small chambers.’
Besides the usual sparse furniture of trunks, tables, and high-backed settles, there were shelves on which were set carvings inlaid with mother of pearl and lamps of stamped and incised brass. The walls were hung with armour of strange and archaic design. Garnetta looked with wonder at a cabinet of red lacquer decorated with toothed creatures breathing fire. There were low couches of intricately carved wood, piled with silken cushions, rows of metal plates set with gleaming cabochon jewels.
‘Lord Rakka is much travelled,’ Romane explained, when Garnetta commented on the diversity of all she saw. ‘He brought back some of these things from Cathay and others from the Holy Land. My lord is a collector of the arts as well as of knowledge. He is an extraordinary man.’
‘That fact had not escaped me,’ Garnetta murmured. ‘Is it not . . . unwise to leave so much on display?’
Romane emitted a creaky noise, which she realized was a laugh. ‘No one would dare to steal anything. They know better than to risk Lord Rakka’s anger. He is a hard master, but fair. Every vassal has enough to eat and is allowed to bring any grievance before the justice. Of course,’ he smiled thinly, ‘Few would wish to make such a petition.’
The chambers on the upper floor were meticulously clean but with the musty smell of rooms unused. It surprised her that the house should be so spacious, so richly furnished, yet devoid of family members. She looked questioningly at the steward.
‘We have few visitors,’ he said with regret. ‘My lord guards his solitude.’
She gained the impression that he was avoiding broaching the weightier question. So be it. She would ask Karolan about his wife. The poor woman had probably died in childbed. But it was curious that a man such as he had not remarried. How he must wish for a son, an heir. The rambling house was too quiet. It ought to be ringing with the cries of children. ‘Is the lack of visitors because of the things people say about Lord Rakka?’
Romane did not look surprised. ‘Of course you have heard the folk tales. Is it the nature of men to fear that which they do not understand. Tell me, what do they say? Since the pestilence gained a hold, I’ve heard no news of the outside.’
Garnetta shuddered. ‘They say that the forest around the manor is cursed, that the intervention of Pope Clement himself – bless the Vicar of Christ – could not make the place holy again. I’ve heard tales of mad women running through the forest, clutching murdered children to their breasts. A demon is said to live in a cave. He pounces on the sinful and strips the flesh from their bones before hanging them from a tree, where they sway in the black wind like monstrous fruit.’
‘And what has my lord to do with all this . . . this fabrication?’
Garnetta hesitated, unwilling to repeat the tales. Now that she knew and loved Karolan they seemed too ridiculous to repeat. Romane prompted her to speak, by a quizzical lifting of one eyebrow. ‘Some years ago a charcoal burner was hanged for the killing of a mother and her child. The child, poor mite, was monstrously deformed. And the woman had been greatly torn . . . about the privy parts. The man was found scraping a shallow grave for the bodies, so there was no doubt of his guilt. But he accused Lord Rakka of having a hand in the sorry mess. Nothing was proved of course – how could it be? – but many people thought Lord Rakka was not entirely without knowledge of the events. It was known that he engaged in doubtful practices. But alchemy is a noble Christian art, practised by kings and monks.’
Romane nodded and murmured, ‘It is indeed.’
Garnetta paused before continuing. ‘The charcoal burner’s corpse was tarred and suspended in a gibbet from a tree. Some misguided souls, who reckoned the man to be innocent of the murders, took gifts of flowers and goods to lay at his feet. Even now, anyone who wishes to harm a neighbour will sneak into the forest at night and make a blood offering to the tree of woe.’ Garnetta took a deep breath. ‘Lord Rakka saved my life. Why would he do that if he was such a monster?’
‘My lord’s ways were ever his own,’ Romane said enigmatically.
With her heightened senses she became aware of the increase in his heartbeat. There was the slightest tang of nervous sweat rising from his clothes. She knew with certainty that he was hiding something from her.
Romane gave her a searching look. ‘If I may make so bold, may I offer you some advice?’ When she nodded he went on. ‘Experience has taught me that truth is a slippery thing indeed and not at all easy to gain a hold on. It’s best to reserve one’s judgement until you are sure of a thing.’
He seemed to be talking in riddles. She smiled placatingly. He was an old man and old men’s minds were apt to wander. ‘Shall we move on?’ she said, with an authority with which she was only just becoming familiar. ‘I have yet to see the kitchens before I join your master in the stables.’
Taking her comment as natural to her assumed station, Romane shook out the folds of his long back gown and afforded her a shallow bow. ‘Of course. Forgive me for presuming on your time. Cook is eager to meet you. She wishes to ask whether you have a special way of preparing lenten cakes.’ His eyes twinkling he said, ‘I, for one, would be heartily glad if you would furnish her with such a receipt. ’Twould be a blessing to us all. I understand that your illness has made you exempt from the rigours of fasting, but I confess that I’m hardly able to stomach any more stockfish and black bread! They’re mortal hard on an old man’s teeth. Won’t you have pity?’
Laughingly, Garnetta accompanied the steward. She liked this old man who was trusted with the running of the household and lands. He obviously had his lord’s interest at heart, but she also perceived that he was fond of Karolan and held him in high esteem. There had been genuine liking between the two men earlier in the hall. Romane must have been with Karolan for many years. Was he privy to all Karolan’s secrets, she wondered?
She felt again the thrill of her lover’s glamour and charisma, but there was still that underlying – something. It was nothing tangible, rather it was a subtle impression, another of the strange, unwanted messages given out to her by her newly sensitized mind.