Uncommon Vows

  Chapter 11

  It was well past midnight when the wounded messenger arrived to inform Adrian that Guy of Burgoigne had taken the small keep of Cheston. Woken unceremoniously from sleep, Adrian accepted the news with the grim thought that perhaps it had been unlucky to say that his rival had been quiet lately.

  The earl gave crisp orders about which of his men must rise and arm themselves. Cheston was a small place, no more than an old motte and bailey, and they should be able to retake it easily if they struck back soon, before Guy could rebuild the defenses. Adrian and Sir Walter discussed the best way to approach Cheston while the earl's squires armed him.

  With the whole castle abuzz, it was not surprising that Meriel also woke and came to Adrian's chamber, her feet bare and her black hair in a single braid that fell over her thin shift. Adrian did not know how long she stood in the corner of the room silently watching before he noticed her, but when he did, he saw that her blue eyes were quietly miserable.

  It took only a few minutes more to finish his business with his men and dismiss them to take care of their own needs. When they were gone, he turned to Meriel.

  In the week since her miraculous recovery, they'd spent much time together, talking and exploring the castle and its near environs. Adrian had been rigorously proper, no easy task when Meriel was so utterly open to him. He was restrained not only by honor, but the fear that she would wake one morning remembering everything, and forgiving nothing.

  She asked, "Will you come back?"

  "Of course," he said, surprised. "Tonight I would have woken you to take my leave, not just vanished in the night."

  She relaxed a little at his words. Adrian put his arm around her shoulders and guided her back to her own chamber, where a candle by the bed burned through the night.

  "It is dangerous, this quarrel with your bad neighbor?"

  Adrian started to deny it, then stopped. Meriel's air of simplicity was part of her nature, but she was a child, and he must not treat her as one. "There is always some danger when one goes to war, but a fully armed knight is not easily killed."

  After a brief hesitation, he continued, "In most fighting, knights are relatively safe because they are valuable alive but worthless dead. But there is a blood feud between Guy of Burgoigne and me. One day I will kill him."

  Her eyes stark, Meriel threw her arms around him, hiding her face against his shoulder. "Or he will kill you?"

  "That is possible," he admitted, welcoming the feel of her soft body, "but not likely, for justice is on my side. I should not be gone long now, only a few days. I do not think it will be difficult to retake Cheston if we move quickly."

  Her voice muffled against his surcoat, she said, "Your hauberk is not comfortable to hug."

  "Very true." Adrian laughed as he detached himself from her embrace and tucked her back into the bed. After pulling up the covers, he bent over, bracing his arms on both sides of her head. "I will come back to you, Meriel, and soon. Don't worry about anything. Sir Walter is in charge of Warfield until I return, and he will guard you well."

  She pulled his head down for a kiss of aching sweetness, a draft so potent that it would be treacherously easy to forget the call of duty and join her in the bed. Conscience intervened in the form of Kestrel, who nudged Adrian's cheek with prickly whiskers. He laughed and straightened up. "Here is someone who will not miss me. Your cat is jealous, I think."

  "She is female. Soon she will be in love with you too," Meriel said, her grave eyes following him as he left the room.

  As an oblique declaration of love, it was a very satisfactory way to be sent off to war, Adrian decided. And since this was a local war, he should be home soon to reap the benefits of being loved.

  * * *

  It took only two days to recapture Cheston, two more to assess the damages and bury the dead.

  To Adrian's disappointment, Guy had led the attack on the keep but left after vanquishing it, so once more their confrontation was denied. Several times they had crossed blades briefly in skirmishes, but always the tides of battle had swept them apart before there could be a final resolution of their mutual hatred. Once they'd even met face-to-face under the roof of Ranulf of Chester and had had to be civil to one another, a situation that had vastly amused Ranulf.

  For years Adrian had bided his time, content to wait for the inevitable end, but now his patience was gone. He wanted to fulfill his vow of vengeance, then put revenge behind him so that he would be free to build a new life. A new life with Meriel.

  It was raining and very late when he arrived back at Warfield, traveling with only a half-dozen men, since the rest had been left at Cheston until the small keep was reasonably secure again.

  After his squires had disarmed him, Adrian looked into Meriel's chamber, feasting his eyes on the sweetness of her sleeping face, but he refrained from waking her. There would be time enough for greetings in the morning. When he reached his own bed, he fell into exhausted sleep almost immediately.

  * * *

  Meriel awoke gasping with terror, the talons of nightmare stabbing deep in her mind. Every night since Adrian had left, the nightmares had grown worse, until she feared going to sleep. Tonight a breeze had quenched her candle and the darkness was damp and heavy.

  As Meriel tried to calm herself, she suddenly caught her breath with relief. He had returned.

  She slid from her bed, not waking Kestrel, who slept at the foot. Silently she made her way through the drafty corridor to his chamber.

  Her instinct had not misled her: Adrian was there. The bedcurtains had not been pulled and she saw that he lay sprawled facedown across his bed, arms out-flung, his profile chiseled by moonlight. In the shadowed night he seemed too beautiful to be human.

  Even shivering with cold and lingering fear, Meriel could not help but pause for a moment in admiration. Once more she thought of an angel come to earth, masking his power so that those mortals around him would not be consumed by his flame.

  She padded over to the bed, moving cautiously so that she would not wake or touch him. Simply being in Adrian's presence would banish her nightmares.

  Meriel should have realized that a warrior would sleep lightly. No sooner had she lifted herself onto the mattress than he awoke. In a swirl of vivid motion Adrian seized her by the shoulders, twisted her down, and pinned her to the mattress. His grip was bruisingly powerful, and the flexed muscles of his bare arms and shoulders were pale as sculpted snow in the moonlight.

  Meriel gasped, startled but not frightened. Adrian's face was clearly visible above her, and she saw recognition flare as soon as his eyes were fully open.

  He released her instantly. "Did I hurt you?" he asked, running a concerned hand over her shoulder and upper arm.

  "Not at all," she assured him after catching her breath. "I'm sorry. I did not mean to alarm you."

  "Nor I you," he said with a wry smile. He rolled onto his side and lightly caressed her face, welcome warmth in the fingertips that crossed her brow and traced the curve of her cheek. "You are very cold, ma petite. Is something wrong?"

  "I was just... just having a bad dream." To her horror, Meriel started to cry.

  Adrian enveloped her in his arms, surrounding her with his warm words and body. "Don't worry, sweeting," he whispered softly, "nothing can harm you here."

  When her tears had ceased, he said, "Do you remember the nightmare? Sometimes when bad dreams are spoken aloud, the devils of the night lose their power."

  "I... I was a prisoner in a stone cell much like my room here, but the walls moved inward, crushing me. I could feel my bones snapping. I could not even draw breath to scream, no matter how hard I tried."

  Meriel shuddered at the memory but managed to suppress further tears. "Just outside the cell a demon mocked me, saying that I should trust him, that if I did he would set me free, but I knew that he was lying. And the worst, the very worst part"—she began to shake, her hands clenching convulsively—"was that the demon wore your face."


  Adrian's stillness was palpable. Then he lay back on the pillows, pulling her down on top of him so he could caress her back with long, gentle strokes. "It was just a bad dream, love. I would never hurt you."

  "Of course not," Meriel said, surprised that he could think she might have believed otherwise. She laid her head on his shoulder and began to relax. "That's why the dream was so horrible. It masked evil with something good and true."

  He brushed his lips against her forehead in a light, sweet kiss. "It was only a dream. You must forget it now.''

  The nightmare was already half-forgotten; impossible to remember the demon when Adrian was here, so kind and so tender. As the tension flowed from her body, Meriel molded herself against him, hoping that he would not tell her to leave.

  At peace with the world, she ran an idle hand across his chest, enjoying the contrasting textures of smooth flesh and the faint roughness of hair, then winced at the discovery of a gnarled ridge of scars along his ribs. She hated the reminder of what a warrior faced when he fought. What if the blade that made this scar had cut more deeply? She would not think of it.

  Her light exploring fingers brushed across his nipple. Intrigued, she toyed gently with the soft point and felt it harden beneath her touch. With her head in the hollow below his shoulder, Meriel was intimately aware of all the subtle changes of Adrian's body, his unsteady breath and quickening heartbeat.

  Still more interesting were the changes in her own body, for they mirrored his, her own breath and heartbeat changing. Intrigued, she rubbed against him and felt her nipples tauten.

  "Perhaps," he said, rather breathlessly, "it would be better if you did not do that. It... is not restful."

  Obediently she closed her eyes, but without volition her hand continued moving. Beneath the bedclothes Adrian was entirely naked. She was fascinated by the pattern of his hair, a wide silky span across his chest that narrowed to a whorled line leading down his flat midriff.

  When she reached his navel, Meriel circled it playfully with the tip of her middle finger, then continued to quest lower. She was warm now, and he was warmer still.

  The back of her hand brushed his heated flesh and all of Adrian's muscles went rigid. He groaned and caught her hand, linking his fingers in hers and raising their joined hands to rest on his chest.

  "I'm sorry," she said remorsefully. "You would rather be sleeping and I am disturbing you."

  He gave a husky chuckle. "On the contrary, because you are disturbing me, I would rather not be sleeping. I would rather be"—he raised her hand and kissed her palm, his lips and tongue searing—"doing this."

  Meriel gasped, her fingers curling with pleasure.

  Wrapping his arms around her, Adrian rolled them both over until he was above her. "Or perhaps this," he murmured, finding her mouth with his.

  His lips were gentle at first, exploring, until she opened her mouth, wanting more. As the kiss deepened, their breath mingled, and as she inhaled his essence something stirred deep inside her.

  His hand moved up to cup Meriel's right breast, molding and shaping the soft contours through the thin fabric of her shift. When he found her nipple and rolled it with delicately judged pressure, pure pleasure shafted through her, becoming a melting sensation in her loins.

  Meriel made a purring noise in her throat. His thigh was between hers and she arched against it in a primal demand for closeness. His body drove once against hers, then stilled, and she felt a shudder run through him.

  With an effort so intense that the air seemed to vibrate, Adrian lifted himself away. Hoarsely he said, "For my sins you will drive me mad, ma petite."

  "I didn't mean to anger you," she whispered, shaken. "I still don't always know what is right and what is wrong."

  "You didn't anger me," he said, a trace of humor in his voice. "Merely breached my good intentions with amazing ease. What we did was not wrong, merely... untimely."

  She sat up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "I'll go back to my room so that you may sleep."

  "No!" Adrian caught Meriel and pulled her back into bed. Lying on his side, he tucked her back against his front and secured her with an arm around her waist. "We can lie here and contemplate our sins together."

  She giggled and relaxed, loving his closeness and the feel of his hard body. Impossible to worry with Adrian so near.

  * * *

  As the room began to lighten, Adrian woke to find that in the night his hand had shifted, coming to rest on the gentle curve of Meriel's breast. She still slept, a smile on her lips.

  He thought of her nightmare and winced, fearing that her hatred of him must lie just below the surface of her mind. She had such trust in him now, such misplaced trust. When—if—she remembered, seeing the trust on her face turn to loathing would be like a dagger in the belly.

  But perhaps that would never happen. Except for that one nightmare, Meriel showed no signs of returning memory, and since she was otherwise fully recovered, perhaps that meant that her hatred was gone as well. "I will atone, ma petite," he whispered, "for everything I did to you."

  Early morning was a time when passion reached floodtide, and Adrian was no longer exhausted as he had been when she joined him in the night. Therefore he chose the wiser course and carried Meriel back to her own bed rather than waking her himself, since he had a lively suspicion of how that would end.

  The early part of the day was taken with learning what had happened in his absence, but since he had been gone only a few days, duty was easily disposed of, leaving Adrian free to spend the afternoon with Meriel.

  He decided to take her to the mews. He knew from their first meeting that she was a mistress of falconry, and he was curious to see how she responded. He had an obscure belief that if she did not recover her memory after being introduced to skills and events from her past, he would be safe.

  Meriel was happy to do anything Adrian suggested. He was not surprised to see that she donned the leather hawking gauntlet with the ease of total familiarity.

  Inside the mews, Meriel sighed with pleased recognition, then crossed to the nearest perch. Not touching the great hooded bird, she asked softly, "She is a gyrfalcon, is she not? I have heard many tales of them, but never seen one."

  Which meant that his lady of mystery had probably never been in the mews of a king or a chief baron, information that Adrian received with relief. Likely she was not Norman after all. "The gyr was a gift from the Empress Matilda," he replied. "She is temperamental, but the fastest bird I have ever flown."

  As if to illustrate his point, the gyrfalcon suddenly bated, bolting screaming from the perch until jerked to a halt by the jesses, then swinging upside down, beating her wings while she continued to shriek. Meriel hastily stepped away while the falconer moved in to calm his nervous charge.

  At the other end of the mews, Meriel stopped in front of a goshawk. Without even thinking, she untethered the bird and took it onto her gloved wrist.

  "There is something about the goshawk that is magnificent," she mused as its claws bit deep into the leather. "They are often ill-tempered, they care little for their masters, yet they have such wild courage. I once saw a gos ride on a stag's back, purely for amusement, I think. Another time I saw one on the ground fighting a hare face-to-face, though the hare was twice its size."

  "Do you remember where that happened?" Adrian asked quietly.

  Meriel froze. Her tenseness caused the gos to stir restively, so she returned the hawk to its perch, her movements overcareful. "I remember seeing those scenes, yet when I try to see more, there is nothing."

  Adrian touched her shoulder comfortingly and they continued their tour of the mews. The chief falconer followed at a respectful distance. When the tour was done, he said, "There are reports of a falcon over toward the edge of the royal forest, my lord." His eyes flickered to Meriel. " 'Twas said that she might be a trained bird that had escaped, so I went to see if I could recapture her. I found her and she stooped to the lure, but raked away
before I could take her."

  "Really?" Adrian frowned, knowing what was on the man's mind. Falcons had been known to return to a lure years after they had escaped. If this particular bird was the one that Meriel had whistled down the wind, it might return to her even if not to a stranger.

  Turning to his companion, he asked, "Would you like to see if you can capture a falcon?"

  Surprised but game, Meriel replied, "Of course!"

  After getting precise directions to the area where the falcon was most often seen, Adrian took a bag of the needed equipment and escorted Meriel to the stables.

  They had visited here, but Meriel had not attempted riding and she eyed the saddled mare with some doubt. "You are sure that I know how to ride?"

  "You are an excellent rider," Adrian assured her as he helped her onto the horse's back.

  For a moment, Meriel swayed uncertainly in the saddle. Then a look of pure bliss crossed her face. "Ahhh," she breathed happily, leaning forward to caress the mare's gleaming sorrel hide. "I have missed this."

  Chuckling, Adrian mounted his own horse and they rode out of the castle.

  Beyond the village, Meriel asked, "What is the mare's name?"

  "You may name her whatever you wish."

  Meriel cocked her head to one side as she thought. "I shall call her Rosalia."

  Adrian felt a prickle on the back of his neck at how similar the name was to the one she had chosen before, Rose. Somewhere in her past, there must be another horse named Rose, or Rosalia, but where? He doubted that it was the aged horse she'd claimed to have taken from her brother's farm.

  As they rode east toward the royal forest, Adrian could not help wondering about her background, though he suspected he'd be better off never finding out. A woman who knew Latin and hawking and horses was not likely to be without protectors. But where had they been the day that he had found her?

  Meriel herself was blithely unconcerned, content to enjoy the time in Adrian's company and her newfound riding ability. He envied her pristine conscience.

  After about an hour's ride they reached a wide expanse of meadowland near the forest and began watching for the falcon, trotting parallel to the woodlands at a leisurely pace. It was a pleasant ride, but the afternoon passed with no success in their mission. Adrian was about to suggest that they return to Warfield when Meriel exclaimed, "There!" pointing high in the sky. "That is the one we seek."