Chapter 17

Fordwich Castle

For most Englishmen and women spring was the busiest time of the year. Heifers had calved and dairy work was in full swing; wheat was threshed, lumber cut, and autumn sown corn weeded. The countryside also sprang to new life. Daisies, periwinkles, and bluebells blanketed meadows and edged swift-running streams. Cuckoos called from their nests, pigeons cooed in their dovecotes, and bees left their apiaries to feed on the nectar from garden flowers. Robins and wild geese returned from the south.

In recognition of the earth's renewal, all Englishmen welcomed in the May. King Edward made merry at Shooter's Hill in London with his favorite at his side. Elsewhere milkmaids, woodsmen and townsfolk arose at dawn and gathered branches to adorn their cottages. Maids wove garlands for their hair; men tucked daisies and pennyroyals in their belts. Villagers danced around the maypole and drank wine scented with violet and wild thyme.

At Fordwich Castle, Maria and her family enjoyed an afternoon banquet in the orchard, mere weeks after the Cherry Fair. Then she and her father and other guests rode across flowery meadows, freshly-plowed fields and holts thick with game. Maria relished the headlong flight. She was too busy concentrating on her horsemanship to muddy up her mind with unsolvable problems and worries.

And those she had.

Maria was distressed by Richard of Sussex's coldness toward her. Since his return to Chilham Castle following Thomas Lancaster's death, he'd seldom visited Fordwich. Phillip often rode to see him, but they'd not shared more than three words. She also worried about her husband, as well as the political state of England. With King Edward's recent actions, she feared Phillip would once again be called upon to war or to parliament.

Following their ride, Maria stretched out beneath a horse chestnut. From her position, she could see villagers dancing round the maypole, and the Queen of the May upon her flowery throne. Nearby Michael and Eleanora napped in the shade of a giant oak; Phillip took turns shooting arrows into a straw target. Richard and Lady Constance Warenne, a recently arrived guest, strolled across the meadow. Maria recognized Ivetta Smythe, the Sturry Whore, among those near Richard and Lady Warenne.

What is she doing here? Maria wondered. Had one or the earl's men invited her? Once she had overheard Lord Sussex and his squire discussing the Sturry Whore.

"Who do you think she looks like?" Richard had asked.

And Michael's succinct response, "Trouble."

Shadows crept across the meadow rue, stands of purple willow, and dainty mousetail. Phillip flopped down beside her. "I have forsaken archery. All I want to do for the day's remainder is sleep."

He rested his head in her lap. "And what a fine pillow I have here." Phillip pressed his lips against her stomach. "Tonight," he whispered, smiling up at her, "I will show you how to properly welcome in the May."

Maria returned his smile. Lately she'd been much more demanding. She didn't know what was wrong, but her behavior often struck her as irrational, or at the very least, contradictory. She was also more aggressive during lovemaking, and afterward felt vaguely dissatisfied.

She brushed her fingers through Phillip's hair. Most times I have no idea what I want, so how could you?

After Phillip fell asleep, Maria gently disentangled herself, rose and slipped away, into nearby Oldridge Wood where moss rested like shadows upon the horse chestnuts and snow yet lay in the thickest copses. A covey of quail scattered at her approach.

Following the course of Lampen Stream, which slid through the trees to open meadow, Maria's mood lightened. She might have been a kingdom away from the revelers rather than a few hillocks. Here she didn't have to deal with confusing emotions or troubling situations over which she had no control. Here she could just enjoy the day.

Sunlight sparkled like diamonds on Lampen Stream's bubbling surface. As a child Maria had believed faeries lived in the water and could change it to precious jewels. Stooping, she scooped up a handful and watched the droplets fall through her fingers in a shimmering cascade.

"Aye, faeries," she whispered.

On impulse she removed her slippers, wadded her skirt inside her girdle and plunged into the icy water. The years slipped away until she might have been eight years old again. She filled her lungs with the sweet May air, removed her wimple and the pins from her hair and allowed it to tumble free down her back.

Hearing a noise Maria raised her eyes to the nearby forest. A fat ewe, near ready to drop her lamb, grazed beside a lone cherry tree in full blossom.

Its snow white petals seemed to radiate a mystical light. Odd. 'Twas past time for cherry blossoms. And she had been in Oldridge Wood many times without seeing such a tree.

Suddenly, Maria remembered: Life, though pleasant, is transitory, even as is the cherry fair.

The tree shimmered, its soft fragrance filling her senses. The water tugged at her calves.

"Aye, transitory," whispered Maria. She thought of her mother and the past, and of Lord Sussex and her husband and tears stung her eyes. If only she could halt time's passing, chart a happy life, relive her childhood so that she could resurrect her relationship with Henrietta. But she couldn't. Her mother was dead. And someday she too—everyone she loved—would die.

Leaving the stream she approached the cherry tree. Time's passing. Maria felt a great weariness as she settled herself against its trunk.

If only I knew what the point to my life is. Or whether there is any point at all.

* * *

Maria's eyelids fluttered open. She must have fallen asleep, and now it was dark. She sat up. A full moon hovered above the horizon. Her eyes sought the moon's shadowed face. Once hadn't she said she wanted the moon—and didn't she possess it? What more was left, the sun?

"Lady Rendell." Richard of Sussex stood near the forest's edge, beyond the cherry tree.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, struggling to her feet. "How long have you been standing there? Where is my husband?"

"Phillip had to take your father home after he enjoyed a bit too much wine. He bade me find you."

Maria busied herself by brushing off the back of her kirtle. "Are the others near? Lady Warenne, I mean?" She imagined Richard's paramour momentarily charging through the trees with all the grace of a snorting boar.

"She rode back to Chilham." Richard moved to stand beside Maria. His eyes sought the rising moon. The shielding darkness forged between them a certain tenuous intimacy.

Though Lady Warenne had done nothing more in Maria's presence than enjoy an innocent stroll with the earl, she blurted, "I do not like her much."

Richard laughed. "Nor do I. Especially on nights like these when I would be alone."

Maria understood that feeling all too well.

"Sometimes I mislike the turn my thoughts take. Does that ever happen to you, m'lady? Do you ever find yourself lusting after some man besides your husband?"

Maria gasped. "That is a lecherous remark unworthy of you, my lord."

"I feel lecherous tonight. And not for some flaxen-haired, jewel-laden court creature who thinks to charm me into matrimony. Tonight I crave darker charms." His mouth twisted. "I am beginning to understand how Phillip sometimes feels. 'Tis a trying thing to be smothered."

Furious at his cruelty and unsettled by words that uncannily matched her private fears, Maria faced him. "Smothered? 'Tis unkind of you, my lord, and you have no right to hurt me with your lies and insinuations. My husband loves me well and—"

Richard studied her, though in the darkness she could not read his expression. "What man wouldn't? Though love can be smothering. How must your husband feel, knowing that you want him body and soul, and knowing that if he relinquishes himself, a part of him will die?"

"Did my lord husband tell you that? Is that what you talk about when you are together? About what a trial I am, and what a shrewish grasping wife?"

Richard sidestepped the question. "You forget. Last winter I spent many pleasant evenings at Fordwich. I had opportunity to study certain—things."

"And what have you seen?"

"Something I haven't had, mayhap. Something I envy. Perhaps I believe I am not like Phillip, that I could return a love body and soul. That I wouldn't mind being chained to a woman and a way of life, whereas it chafes your husband greatly. Any such man would feel like running when a woman looks at him with her soul in her eyes. Yet in my case I would stay."

"You would?"

"Forever."

In the shadow of the moon Richard appeared to be smiling. He bent over her.

Thinking he meant to kiss her, Maria pushed against his chest. "Stop it! I've had enough of your boorish ways. Breeding does have a way of showing—or lack of it."

Richard's expression stiffened, but his voice remained soft. "You over-estimate your charms, Lady Rendell. I would not touch my friend's wife. And I certainly would not be interested in someone who sounds nearer fishwife than gentlewoman."

Embarrassed, hurt and angered in equal measure, Maria spun away from him. She intended to splash across the stream toward the forest, but her feet slipped on the smooth stones and she tumbled into the icy water. Intent on making the shore she struggled up, trying to ignore the sharp jab in her left ankle. When she put her full weight on the leg, she gasped.

"Are you hurt?" Leaping across the stream Richard hurried to her, helping her ease down on the opposite bank.

"My ankle, I fear 'tis broken."

"Where does it pain you?" Anger forgotten he knelt beside her, cradling her calf with one hand while gently probing the area with the other. "I cannot feel any broken bones."

No, but Maria felt his touch, the warmth of his hand on her leg much too vividly. As he bent over her his hair shimmered, radiant as the cherry blossoms caught in the moonlight.

"Perhaps you sprained it." Richard's hand still cradled her ankle.

Maria averted her eyes. The thoughts she was experiencing were improper. You are a man like any other, she thought, repressing the urge to reach out and touch his hair. A man I don't even like.

Placing a hand on the earl's shoulder, Maria struggled up but was overcome by a sudden knifelike pain.

He stood slowly, carefully so that he wouldn't jostle her and they shifted position until they faced each other. Richard bent forward and his lips brushed hers so lightly she wasn't certain whether she'd imagined it. But she didn't imagine the instinctive pleasurable response she felt in his arms—a response she struggled to ignore.

While keeping her hand upon his arm, she eased safely away, careful not to meet his gaze. Rather, she looked beyond to the cherry tree–where a figure stood, watching them.

"Husband!"

Richard spun toward him, causing Maria to lose balance. Phillip made no move to help her even when she fell against the earl.

Tension charged the atmosphere.

"We... I was... I fell," Maria said. "My ankle twisted and Lord Sussex was helping me."

Phillip turned and disappeared back into the night.