"We shall not be in the area for long." There was a bitter edge in Benjamin's voice. He rose and left the garden, leaning heavily on his son for support.
When the visitors had disappeared into the keep, Adrian turned to see his wife regarding him with wide, grave eyes.
"Do you really think their presence would be disruptive?" she asked.
"I don't know," he admitted, "but I prefer not to take the chance."
Meriel turned away and picked a rose, her eyes cast down as she sniffed the blossom. "Jesus was Jewish. Should we not welcome his own people?"
"Meriel," he said, his voice hard. "I do not wish to discuss this."
"I'm sorry, my lord," she said quietly. "I did not mean to question your judgment. But I don't understand why you would not allow them to stay in Shrewsbury."
"Where souls are concerned, there is little room for compromise." Intensely uncomfortable with this first tension between him and his wife, Adrian said defensively, "It isn't as if I threw them out to starve in a blizzard. There are Jewish communities in a dozen other towns, and Benjamin and his wealth will doubtless be welcome in any of them if he does not want to return to London."
"Of course." Meriel gave him her shining smile. "I know that you would never do anything unkind."
Her absolute belief in him revived the dormant guilt that still lay deep in Adrian's gut. Jesu, if she ever came to understand just what he was capable of, she would never forgive him! Before the anxiety could take hold, he asked, "What kind of fountain would you like? It would take time, but we could order one to be made in Italy."
But it would take far more than a marble fountain to expiate his guilt.
* * *
That night Meriel woke screaming. She flailed and fought, trying desperately to free herself of the relentless dark angel who had captured her. She was near hysteria when the cries of "Meriel, Meriel, wake up!" finally penetrated her panic.
"Adrian?" she asked, her voice shaking. By the light of the night candle, she saw that her husband was propped up on his elbow next to her, his gilt hair tumbled, the clean planes of his face drawn with anxiety.
Meriel felt a moment of mind-splitting disorientation, for the dangerous implacable face that tormented her dreams was identical to Adrian's. She squeezed her eyes shut, feeling that she was perilously close to opening a door into disaster. And once it was open, it could never be closed again.
"Jesu, Meriel, are you all right?"
Adrian wrapped his arms around her and she clung to him, still trembling with the fear engendered by the dream.
"You were having a nightmare," he said softly. "Tell me about it."
"I can't remember it all, but I... I think I was a songbird in a cage. A... a demon wanted me to sing for him, but I wouldn't. I couldn't." Meriel couldn't bring herself to tell her husband that the demon wore his face. "I managed to break out of the cage, but I had no wings. When I tried to fly, I fell, tumbling and helpless, endlessly. I knew I would never stop falling."
He held her tight against his chest, his hand stroking the back of her neck. "You are safe, beloved," he murmured. "It was only a bad dream. I won't let anyone harm you ever again."
As her head pressed against his chest, she heard the drumming of his heart. "I'm so cold," she whispered, despairing, wondering how she could be cold in Adrian's arms.
"Let me warm you." He lifted her chin and his mouth found hers. At first his kiss was gentle, but it rapidly became fierce and demanding.
For an instant panic returned and she wanted to fling herself away. Then desire flared. Meriel accepted the kiss and returned it, as fierce as he, her hands and mouth urgent, for she wanted him so deeply inside her that there would be no more room for fear.
Adrian was like a raging torrent, and with his intimate knowledge of her body, he knew exactly how to carry her with him. Reality was touch and taste, demand and plea, giving and taking, so intense that past and future ceased to exist. And in the inferno of passion, Meriel was able to forget the terror that had woken her.
When their mutual madness was done, she lay warm and sated in Adrian's arms, her nightmare no more than a distant, fragmentary memory. Enfolded in her husband's love, Meriel slept.
* * *
Sir Vincent de Laon was justly proud of the network of informants he had developed throughout the Marches. It rankled to know that Adrian of Warfield had an equally good network, so there was pleasure in gathering information from right under the rival earl's nose.
Unfortunately, the news itself was not good. The Frenchman swore under his breath and spent time thinking through what must be done to salvage the situation. Then he went to Guy of Burgoigne.
The earl was sharpening the blade of his heavy sword. Usually it was a task for a smith, but Guy enjoyed the work and swore that he could produce the most dangerous blade in Christendom. Perhaps he could. Sir Vincent kept his distance just in case Guy's uncertain temper erupted at the bad news.
"Our Jewish pigeon is a canny bird," Sir Vincent drawled. "He almost escaped our net."
Guy finished drawing the whetstone along his blade, then looked up, his expression ugly. "What do you mean?"
"Benjamin l'Eveske has come to Shropshire at a different time and by a different route than we had discussed." Keeping a wary eye on his lord, Vincent added, "He is now at Warfield Castle."
"What!" The tip of Guy's upright blade quivered dangerously in the air. "So he knows that you tricked him, and so does Warfield."
"Aye," Sir Vincent admitted, "but no matter. When Benjamin discovered that he had been misled, he asked if he might still settle in Shrewsbury. Warfield, pious fellow that he is, refused permission. So Benjamin, his household, and his three wagonloads of goods, will head east again tomorrow."
"You're sure?" the earl asked sarcastically. "Your certainty before was misplaced."
"This time I'm sure. Rather than take the southwestern road which brought him to Warfield, he will head northeast to Lincoln. He must pass through the royal forest, so there is only one road he can take."
Guy considered, stroking the whetstone down the blade with a high-pitched screech that set Sir Vincent's nerves on edge. "We'll have to cross into Warfield's territory to take them, but that won't be difficult. How many guards does he have?"
"Fifteen. Well armed and sufficient to drive off bandits, but hardly capable of stopping an attack by armed knights. I doubt they will want to die to protect a merchant's ill-gotten gold." Sir Vincent's lip curled with disgust. "Warfield offered an additional escort, but the Jew refused it.''
"The more fool he," Guy said dispassionately. "You know when and where we can strike?"
"Benjamin will leave Warfield Castle tomorrow morning at dawn. The wagons move slowly. We can take them anywhere along the forest road. Presumably we will wish to do that toward the eastern edge, as far as possible from Warfield."
"Quite right." Lightly Guy drew his thumb along the blade. A thin line, beaded with blood, appeared on the pad of callused skin. "Everyone makes a mistake now and then, Vincent. Just remember that two in a row are not permitted."
"I shall remember." Sir Vincent bowed nervously and withdrew. He was used to his lord's bluster, but when Burgoigne became cool and reasonable, real danger was imminent.
* * *
From high above on a tower, Meriel watched Benjamin and his household rumble out of the outer bailey and across the drawbridge. The previous day she had sent a servant to ask if they needed anything, but a polite refusal had been returned. While their men-at-arms had eaten in the castle hall, the merchant and his private household had chosen to prepare and eat their own food. Was that a subtle way of rejecting those who had rejected them, or did they eat differently from Christians?
As the last riders clattered over the drawbridge, Meriel wondered where they would find their new home. Adrian was right, people with wealth had many choices, but she still felt badly that he had sent Benjamin and his family away. No doubt it was her head injury that was t
he problem, for try as she might, she could not understand why it made a difference that they worshiped God in the same way Jesus had, rather than in the way Jesus's followers had developed.
Before going downstairs, Meriel examined the sky. There was a chancy feel in the air and the clouds suggested that a major storm was on the way. Not just yet, perhaps later in the day. She thought of Benjamin and his heavy wagons and hoped she was wrong.
Meriel spent the morning in the kitchen, helping to prepare conserves. After dinner Adrian suggested that they go for a ride and she was happy to agree, knowing that the cook would be not only willing, but probably grateful, to finish the conserves without her.
They rode out at a gallop, which released some of Meriel's tension. Eventually she pulled in her mount to a trot. Looking at the roiling dark clouds above, she said, "I wonder when the storm will break."
"Soon, I think." Adrian reined his mount in and matched her pace. "Perhaps I should not have coaxed you out of the castle."
She laughed. "I am not a sugar comfit that will melt in the rain." Her expression sobered. "I was feeling restless and prefer to be outside."
"Something ominous is in the air," he said slowly.
Meriel glanced at him with surprise. "That is exactly how I feel, but I thought it was just the coming storm."
Adrian's eyes darkened. "This morning a different kind of storm was averted. You remember Richard learned that Guy of Burgoigne had hired a troop of mercenaries?"
Meriel nodded.
"I asked one of my French cousins to see if he could discover who had been hired, and to buy them off if possible." He chuckled. "My cousin was successful. It is the nature of mercenaries to work for the highest bidder, and I offered them more to stay away than Guy was willing to pay them to come."
"That's wonderful!" Meriel said. "So there is unlikely to be heavy fighting this season?"
"Certainly not on the scale that Guy hoped for." Adrian grimaced. "But for the last few months he has bided his time, waiting for his mercenaries. When he learns that none are coming, he will turn his rage on my tenants. He might even attack Shrewsbury, though the city wall should hold him until I can send reinforcements."
"Will you be able to stop him?" she asked with quick concern.
"I think so. Around the edges of my lands I have people watching for signs of trouble. When they see something, they signal the nearest castle or keep to bring aid."
Intrigued, Meriel asked, "What kind of signals?"
"Several kinds, depending on the situation and the time of day," he explained. "Colored banners and smoke signals usually. At night, they use something that I read about in an old Greek text. With lamps set in front of polished reflective metal, the Greeks could flash signals for miles to warn ships from rocky coasts. A version of that has proved useful here."
"So that is how you keep your people so safe and prosperous," she said, impressed.
"It usually works." He sighed. "Not always. If the attack is unobserved or moves in too quickly, it's not always possible to get knights there in time."
"Perhaps Guy will not attack as you think."
"I hope he does!" Adrian said with sudden violence. "I want him to come out in the open and fight, so I can put an end to him once and for all."
Frightened by what she saw in his face, Meriel asked quietly, "But there is a risk that he might kill you, beloved, and I could not bear that."
"He won't." Adrian intended his smile to be reassuring, but from Meriel's doubtful expression he must not have succeeded. Changing the subject, he said, "Do you remember that we rode this way once before?"
She shook her head. They were traveling upland through dense woods, and a few minutes later they entered the clearing of the standing stone circle. On their other visit, Meriel had tried to escape. Now Adrian watched her from the corner of his eye, wondering if she would remember that day.
Meriel did not remember, but she was as fascinated as on their previous visit. "So this was a pagan place of worship."
She reined in her mare and surveyed the circle of stones. Sheep had been grazing in the clearing and the grass around the standing stones was cropped like lush green velvet.
They both dismounted and tethered their horses to a low tree branch. Rising wind rustled the leaves with a dry sibilant hiss, and high above, streamers of black cloud whipped across a dark and turbulent sky.
"It's a proper pagan day too, isn't it?" Laughing, Meriel walked into the center of the circle and raised her arms to the wind. "Perhaps the old gods object to our presence."
With her arms uplifted and her cloud of hair forming a dark nimbus about her face, Meriel looked wild and elemental, a creature not of the earth but of the stormy sky. Adrian was reminded of her falcon, Chanson, of how Meriel had thrown herself from the window to escape him, and the memories were ice in his veins.
Controlling his expression, he joined her in the circle. "Just a blustery English day," he said lightly, wanting to dissipate his deep unease. "I have been here many times and never heard pagan spirits complain of my presence."
"Perhaps they whisper down the wind." Meriel turned her face to the sky and closed her eyes, her mantle billowing like the wings of a soaring falcon. "All we need do is listen..."
A smattering of raindrops fell, resting on her white skin like dewdrops. Then the storm hit.
Meriel opened her eyes and blinked as her lashes were plastered down by a sudden drenching flood of rain. Her next words were drowned by a flash of lightning and a rapid, staccato crack of thunder. Laughing again, she said, "This is not one of the old British gods, but Zeus the Thunderer himself!"
"Or Thor," Adrian agreed. He put his arm around Meriel's shoulders and hustled her across the clearing. "We had best get out of the open."
Another flash of lightning almost blinded them and the shapes of the standing stones burned eerie blue-white impressions on the inside of their lids. Quickly they ducked under the sheltering branches of the nearest tree, which stood next to the one where the horses were tethered.
Shivering, Meriel pulled her mantle close against the chilly air. Adrian tucked her back against his chest, wrapping his own mantle around them both and resting his chin on her head. Under the cloak, his arms linked around her waist so that she was triply warmed.
With a chuckle and a mischievous wiggle of her nicely rounded backside, his wife relaxed against him, saying happily, "What a wonderful way to enjoy a storm."
The wind had risen to a vicious howl, tearing leaves and small branches from the trees and flinging them horizontally through the air. From deep in the woods came a rending crash as a tree went over and took others with it. At the edge of the clearing a sapling bent over parallel to the earth and above them the leaves saturated until almost as much water was coming through the tree as fell in the open circle.
A lightning bolt struck nearby, immediately followed by an ear-splitting crack of thunder. He involuntarily tightened his embrace, as if his arms could protect Meriel from the storm's fury. She was right—this was pagan weather, and it was easy to imagine ancient priests and priestesses invoking storm gods in the heart of the ancient stone circle.
Multiple bolts of lightning slashed the air again and again, and thunder rumbled with such power that the very earth beneath their feet trembled. Pitching his voice over the wind, Adrian said, "If I had known there would be such a tempest, I would never have brought you out!"
"I'm not sorry. This is magnificent! It would not be the same if we watched from inside the castle." She smiled and tilted her head back to look up at him, completely unafraid.
Her smile faded. "I don't fear the storm, not when I'm with you. My only concern is a superstitious one, that I am so happy. Perhaps too much happiness tempts fate."
Adrian wondered if that concern was the root of his own dark forebodings. Wanting to forget his disquiet, he bent his head and kissed her. Meriel's lips tasted of fresh rain and her mouth was a hot, sweet contrast to the cold air.
&
nbsp; When the lingering kiss ended, she wrapped her arms around his neck and said huskily, "Make love to me, O my spouse."
He hesitated. Years of ingrained caution warned not to lose himself in desire when in the midst of danger. But stronger than caution was Adrian's urgent need to counteract his deep fear that his wife was bound by only the frailest of tethers, and that someday she would fly away from him.
Surrendering to his passionate need to prove to both of them that she was his, he kissed her again with deep hunger. The rich wet scents of leaf, rain, and bark were sharply erotic, as was the wild wind, and within moments he had forgotten caution, forgotten fear, forgotten everything except the woman in his arms, and how much he loved and needed her.
His hand slid through the folds of her mantle to her breast, and under the layers of fabric her nipple hardened instantly. After he had roused both her breasts, his hand moved lower, across her slim waist, down the slight curve of her abdomen to the sensitive juncture of her thighs. She moaned and pressed against him, then fumbled under his tunic so that she might return the pleasure he was giving her.
Adrian gasped when her deft, knowing hand found him. Retaining just enough sense to reject the soaked earth, he turned Meriel so that her back was against the tree. His mantle protected them both from the wind as he lifted her heavy skirts, and her waiting flesh was hot, moist, and eager.
She gave a soft cry when he touched her. "I am my beloved's, and his desire is toward me."
There was no aphrodisiac greater than the desire of one's beloved, and her words dissolved past and future, leaving only the fiery present. Adrian raised Meriel off the ground and braced her against the tree trunk as she wrapped her arms and legs tightly around him. He thrust into her, then caught himself, trembling with the effort of remaining still so that he would not culminate immediately from the exquisite welcome her body offered him.
He would have moved slowly, but Meriel would not let him. She surged with passion, her teeth and nails sinking into him with delirium. Adrian lost the last vestiges of control and they made love with a fury that matched the storm's. And at the end, their cries mingled with the howl of the wind.