Uncommon Vows

  Adrian was willing to admit that the tiny speck was a bird, but it was soaring so high as to be almost invisible. Meriel, however, had no doubts. She dismounted. "Give me the hood, the lure, and the jesses, then move away," she said briskly, her eyes fixed on the sky.

  Very rarely did anyone command the Earl of Shropshire, but Adrian obeyed, amused at her air of unconscious command. He gave Meriel what she needed from his pouch, then moved well back from her. When he was clear, she began swinging the lure with the skill of long practice.

  At first it seemed that the bird would not respond, but Meriel patiently continued to swing the lure around her head, Adrian narrowed his eyes against the sun, doubting that she would be successful.

  The bird changed the angle of its flight, as if considering. Then it began to stoop, diving at Meriel with the speed and precision that identified it beyond doubt as a falcon. Even the mighty gyr could not match a peregrine's stoop, and it was impossible to watch without feeling awe for what God had wrought.

  Seconds later the falcon smashed into the lure with killing force, riding it to the ground. Even at his distance Adrian could hear Meriel's peal of delighted laughter.

  As the bird greedily gobbled the meat bound to the lure, Meriel moved in and deftly fastened the jesses to its legs. The falcon made no protest and in a few moments she was secured.

  When the earl arrived and dismounted, Meriel looked up at him, her face glowing. "She came back to me, Adrian, she came back! There is no thrill greater than when a wild creature returns of its own will."

  With feigned casualness he asked, "What is her name?"

  "Chanson, of course," Then Meriel faltered, looking from the falcon to Adrian, then back. "How... how did I know that?"

  "Did I mention that when I found you in the forest you had a falcon, but you whistled her down the wind?" He smiled, trying to conceal both guilt and apprehension. "Even at first meeting you did not trust me, so you set her free. I can't swear that this is the same bird, but I doubt that another would have come to you like that."

  Meriel frowned, a gesture that constricted Adrian's heart, then shook her head. "I have no recollection of such a thing." The falcon had finished eating, so Meriel took it onto her wrist and scratched the feathered throat. Chanson made a sound of pleasure and happily fluffed her feathers.

  "She has no doubts that she has come home, Meriel."

  She hooded the falcon, then looked up, her bright expression untroubled. "Isn't it time we did the same?"

  At her words, Adrian felt the tightness in his chest begin to ease. If Meriel did not recover her memory even after finding her falcon and being reminded of their meeting in the forest, surely she never would. For the first time he felt really safe. It was almost time to begin planning for the future. "Yes, ma petite, it is time to go home."

  They headed back to the castle, Meriel carrying the falcon on her wrist and singing softly under her breath.

  Adrian's sense of well-being shredded away when he realized that the song she sang so joyfully was one of the Latin hymns from the Benedictine service of Lauds, the song of a monk or a nun.

  Chapter 12

  Having rediscovered riding, Meriel was anxious to do more, so the next afternoon Adrian took her out again, following the river north until they came to a tributary and turned east. The day was very warm and it was pleasant to follow the shady path that ran along the stream. Adrian had brought food and wine and they shared it by a hidden pool, laughing and talking of trivial things that were rendered amusing by the company.

  Sprawled beneath a tree with Meriel an arm's length away, Adrian could not remember when he had been so content. More than content, happy.

  By midafternoon, it was the hottest day the young summer had yet produced. Adrian glanced at the stream with regret, thinking that if he had been alone or with Richard, he would have gone swimming. But he couldn't do that with Meriel. "It's time to return home."

  Meriel had no such inhibitions. "Let us delay for a few minutes longer." She stood, untied her girdle, and let it drop to the ground.

  Startled, Adrian sat up. "What are you doing?"

  She peeled the bliaut off over her head, then removed her shoes and stockings. "Going into the water, of course. It is such a warm day."

  She stopped at the expression on his face. "Is that one of those things that is not done?" she asked uncertainly.

  "It is done sometimes," he admitted, distracted by how the thin fabric of her shift clung to her perspiration-damped curves.

  Before he could collect himself enough to enumerate the conditions under which one was likely to enter a stream, she said, "Good!"

  Lifting her shift by the hem, Meriel pulled it off in one sinuous movement. She was neither brazen nor timid, but instead serenely comfortable with her body, like Eve before the Fall.

  Mesmerized by the sight of her slim, perfectly proportioned figure, Adrian was rendered temporarily speechless, but as she blithely headed toward the water he managed to exclaim, "Jesu, Meriel, can you swim?"

  She glanced over her shoulder mischievously. "I don't remember, but I'm about to find out." She wrapped her braids around her head in a coronet, then scampered across the grass and into the water.

  Torn between amusement and concern, Adrian stripped off his own tunic, thinking that protecting Meriel from possible danger was a good excuse to do what he had wanted to do anyhow. In a few moments he was as bare as she was. He crossed to the stream and was about to enter when he stopped, his gaze caught by Meriel's.

  She stood shoulder-deep in the water, her wide blue eyes fixed on him as if she had never seen a naked man before. Perhaps she had not.

  Embarrassed by her grave regard, Adrian was unsure whether to advance or retreat. Before he could do either, she said softly, "I never knew how beautiful a man can be."

  There was no mistaking the sincerity in her voice. While Adrian could not help but be gratified, her admiration embarrassed him even more and his face burned with rising color. The best cure was at hand, so he stepped into the stream, then dived below the surface and swam underwater toward Meriel. He managed to get a hand on her ankle, but she twisted out of his grip and escaped, squealing with delight.

  Concern for her safety vanished quickly, for Meriel swam like an otter. There were people who considered open-air bathing to be unwholesome and a source of contagion, but children often ignored their elders on days such as this, and it was like children that they played, diving and darting and splashing each other. Laughter helped wash away Adrian's painful memories of Meriel's plunge into the Severn and his desperate search for her.

  When Meriel made an attempt to duck Adrian and failed, he caught her shoulders and immobilized her. "Now I have you, water sprite," he said, chuckling. "I claim a forfeit."

  "I have naught with which to pay a fine, Sir Knight," she said, fluttering her long black lashes piteously. "What is a poor maid to do?"

  Laughter dropped away as Adrian looked down at his captive. The outlines of Meriel's lovely body were dimly visible below the surface. Her figure was delicate, not voluptuous but perfectly and exquisitely female.

  And because of who she was, she was the most desirable woman he had ever known. "Ah, Meriel," he whispered. "I love you so. You need no forfeit, for you yourself are the richest prize any man could hope for."

  Responding to his seriousness with her own, Meriel replied, "And I love you, for now and always." Raising her hands, she pulled his head down for a kiss.

  Even as he knew that he should not give in to temptation, Adrian reveled in the taste of her mouth, exploring, greeting, welcoming. Having begun, he could not stop, and he trailed kisses across the fine bones of her cheek to her ear, where he traced the complex whorls with his tongue.

  She made a soft, rich sound deep in her throat and he sought the source, feeling the vibration of her pleasure against his lips. Her flawless fair skin was beaded with moisture, and it was a short but infinitely enjoyable journey to her breast.


  He teased the nipple with his tongue and Meriel's whole body softened in response until she was supported entirely by Adrian's arm. He kissed first one breast, then the other, while his free hand rejoiced in the subtle curves of her back and hips. Underwater her skin was slick and soft as silk.

  When he stopped to draw breath, intoxicated with desire, Meriel leaned back across his arm, her gaze meeting his with absolute trust. Silently she mouthed the words "I love you."

  He could not stop himself. His left arm circling beneath her shoulders as support, Adrian bent for another kiss as her body floated free beside him. With his right hand he caressed downward, enjoying every change in texture and consistency between her breast and her knee. Here soft, there firm, here curving outward, there tapering in.

  Even when he slowly drew his hand up her inner thigh, she did not flinch or draw back. She had no coyness or doubt or maidenly modesty, and her unconditional acceptance was more erotic than practiced wiles could ever be. With infinite tenderness he slid his fingers through her silken triangle of hair to the delicate folds below.

  At Adrian's first intimate touch she gasped, not with fear but with delight. He ended the kiss so that they could both breathe, and clasped her against his chest as he penetrated more deeply, discovering her secret depths. He watched her face like a hawk, tuned to every one of her physical and emotional reactions, anticipating when to quicken, when to slow.

  Meriel began to tremble, then cried out, her body convulsing uncontrollably against him in an ultimate act of trust. Her arms clenched around him, then relaxed. She did not open her eyes even when he drew her through the water to the edge of the stream, then lay down so they reclined on the grassy bank, the upper parts of their bodies out of the water, their lower bodies twined lazily beneath the surface.

  Meriel lay across his chest like a pagan water nymph until her breathing had returned to normal. Then she opened her eyes and gazed up into his. "I did not dream that such pleasure existed," she whispered. "But what of you?"

  "I have never known greater pleasure than in giving it to you," he said truthfully.

  "That is a truth of the heart, but there is also truth of the body. Please, Adrian, make love to me." She reached up and linked her arms around his neck. "Do not deny me the chance to pleasure you."

  Adrian ached with desire and she was granting him the right which he so desperately craved. But he would not—could not—accept.

  He drew a deep breath and marshaled his will, no easy task when Meriel watched with such warmth and when her willing body was wrapped around his. "To make love with you would be the greatest of pleasures, ma petite," he said unsteadily. "But even more than pleasure, I want to do what is right in the eyes of God and man. For the ultimate joining, I will wait for our marriage bed."

  Her eyes lit with joy. "Then you no longer think it is too soon to speak of marriage?"

  "Perhaps it is, love," he said wryly, "but I can bear to wait no longer."

  By his actions today, Adrian had taken a kind of virginity from Meriel, and the longer he delayed, the greater the risk that he would take the rest without the blessing of the Church. He had sworn to treat Meriel with all honor, and tumbling her in a stream was hardly the best way of fulfilling his vow.

  But he had also promised to do whatever she wanted, and now she wanted him to make love to her. Firmly he quashed the thought, knowing it to be self-serving. Marriage was the honorable course and he deserved the torments of waiting. "Shall we set a wedding date?''

  Her face glowing like the dawn, Meriel whispered, "Yes, beloved! Let us be wed as soon as possible."

  She leaned forward to kiss him, and he shivered at her caress. They lay interwoven so closely that he knew he must break the kiss before his body took over from his mind. It would be easy, so easy, to consummate their troth right here. Only conscience barred the way.

  Before Adrian could fulfill his good intentions, Meriel's hand slid down between them, moving lightly through the water until she found what she sought.

  He was already fully aroused, and his whole body went rigid when she touched him. He gasped, "Meriel..." wanting to say that this was not necessary, that he did not want her to do anything that disquieted her.

  But there was no disquiet on her intent face, just satisfaction that she could kindle him so. And he could not have said more to save his life.

  Her clasp was tentative at first, then surer as she studied and learned from his passionate, uncontrollable response. It took very little for her to bring him to the explosion point. Later Adrian wondered that she had been able to breathe as he crushed her to him, but at the time he was aware only of rapture.

  This time it was her turn to feel satisfaction at what she had wrought. They lay in each other's arms, half-floating in the water, until finally Adrian said, "The sooner we get married, the better, ma petite. If this happens again, we might both drown."

  She laughed in delight as she stood and wrung the water from her long braids. "I cannot imagine a better way to die."

  "Speak for yourself," he said with mock severity as he climbed onto the embankment. "I am not at all sure that I want to enter Saint Peter's presence with that particular smile on my face. It would be too embarrassing to explain."

  Meriel laughed again and wrapped her arms around his waist in a gesture of pure affection.

  Adrian held her close, not ever wanting to let her go, but under his pleasure was dark questioning. He had thought her a virgin, but perhaps she was not. Perhaps when they embraced she had drawn on unremembered experience, much as she had with riding and hawking.

  Though he hated the idea, he could accept that she might not be a virgin—after all, neither was he—but what if Meriel had a living husband? The fact that she was ringless was not proof that she was free.

  Suppressing the thought, Adrian kissed her fiercely. Meriel was his, and they both knew it. No matter what her past, nothing would stop him from making her his wife.

  * * *

  It was sheerest chance that Sir Vincent de Laon happened to be in Shrewsbury when Adrian of Warfield and his betrothed visited. Warfield was popular in his city, and the citizens were abuzz with comment and approval as the earl rode through the streets with his future bride at his side, both smiling and waving.

  Sir Vincent kept his distance even though he was dressed in a fashion that made it unlikely that he would be recognized. Even if he had been, Warfield would probably have done nothing; unlike Guy of Burgoigne, the empress's earl was a soft man, not quick enough to protect his interests. But great lords were an unpredictable lot, and the Frenchman thought it wiser to stay at the back of the crowd.

  As usual, the citizens were well informed. By the end of the afternoon, Sir Vincent had learned that the earl's marriage was to be celebrated with unseemly speed, and that he had brought his future wife to Shrewsbury so she could choose fabrics and jewels from the city's finest merchants while the earl transacted business with his sheriff.

  Sir Vincent shook his head when he caught a glimpse of the woman Warfield had chosen as his wife: low in stature, hair black as pitch, and, it was said, Welsh.

  Since even the greatest Welsh heiress was unlikely to have a large dowry by Norman standards, it was obvious that Warfield could have done much better for himself. Incredible that he passed up Isabelle of Rouen for such a creature!

  But anything that weakened Warfield was good for Guy of Burgoigne, and for Guy's faithful supporters. As Sir Vincent rode back to Chastain Castle, it occurred to him that this was the perfect time to discover if Richard FitzHugh could be persuaded to change his allegiance. Guy agreed and ordered his lieutenant to Montford to see what could be done.

  Sir Richard FitzHugh received the Frenchman promptly, his handsome face open and amiable. They had once crossed swords in a skirmish but had never before met socially.

  As they exchanged of pleasantries, Sir Vincent decided that the other man's sword arm was superior to his wit. FitzHugh was a typical hulking Norman, go
od in battle but no match for a man of superior subtlety.

  He smiled internally, for he loved the process of seduction, whether it was coaxing an uncertain female to his bed or convincing a man to do something against his honor. 'Twould be a pleasure to persuade this simple Norman to sell his brother.

  After enjoying an excellent dinner, Sir Vincent asked for a private audience with his host. Not surprisingly, it was granted right away. FitzHugh might have no great intellect, but he obviously had guessed that this was no social call.

  The two men withdrew to the solar and began a leisurely discussion of politics over an excellent wine. Sir Vincent discerned little passion for the empress's cause in the other man; likely he served her only because his liege lord did.

  When enough wine had been drunk to soften the atmosphere, Sir Vincent said casually, "I understand your brother is about to take a wife."

  FitzHugh rumpled the ears of a greyhound that had just laid its head on his knee. "He's been seeking a wife for some time. The only question was whom he would choose."

  "I saw Warfield with the wench in Shrewsbury, and I can't say that I understand the attraction." Sir Vincent hoped the commen might provoke some juicy item of gossip, for his intuition told him there must be an interesting tale behind the marriage, but FitzHugh's face remained blank. Perhaps he did not know the true story.

  Mildly disappointed, Sir Vincent continued, "I should think it a bitter time for you. For years you have faithfully served Warfield. If something had happened to him, you would have had a very good claim to his honors since there was no legitimate heir.'' He shrugged delicately. "Within a year or so, that might no longer be the case."

  An amused gleam showed in FitzHugh's blue eyes. "Legitimacy is not enough to hold an inheritance. It also takes strength. It will be years before a son of Adrian's will be strong enough to hold the land, or a daughter old enough to wed a man who can do it for her. Many years, and life is most uncertain."