Medieval Brides. Anne Herries

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СКАЧАТЬ might take Judhael as a lover—even though it was a sin and she risked giving birth out of wedlock.

      Adam’s touch filled her with wanton longings. He was yet a stranger to her, so she could not fathom why her senses swam when he kissed her, but swim they did. Why, she could almost believe the man would turn Mother Aethelflaeda wanton! The image of Adam with the Prioress was so ludicrous a gurgle of laughter escaped her.

      ‘What now?’

      She shook her head. ‘Nothing—I…I was just thinking of you and Mother Aethelflaeda.’

      A dark eyebrow twitched. ‘Me and Mother Aethelflaeda?’ Shaking his head, not understanding, he ran his hand back up her spine and loosed a shiver of delight through her body. He pushed his fingers into the hair at the base of her plait. ‘One more kiss,’ he muttered, tipping her face to his.

      ‘Remember where we are…’

      ‘That’s Mother Aethelflaeda speaking, not you.’ Smiling, he pressed a firm, all too brief kiss on her mouth. ‘But have no fear, little Cecily, you’ll not lose your maidenhood in a room full of soldiers.’

      ‘Adam!’ She thumped at his chest with her fist. ‘Someone will hear!’

      He caught her hand, toying with her fingers. When he caressed her palm with his thumb, the tingle raced to her toes. ‘Relax, sweetheart. I’ve better plans for you—if you will be my true and faithful wife.’

      His reference to her being a true and faithful wife gave her pause. Hadn’t he said something similar last night?

      ‘Sir…?’

      ‘Mmm?’ Idly he ran a finger down her cheek and throat to the neck of her gown.

      When his fingers lingered, her pulse raced. She wanted to run. She wanted to stay. She struggled to keep her mind clear. ‘Your wife—Gwenn…?’

      His hand stilled. An arrested look came into his eyes, as though for a moment he could not recall having had a wife. ‘Mmm?’

      The questions were piling up in her head. What had happened to Gwenn? Had he had her set aside? Did he have children? The questions were burning into her soul, for the answers would reveal much about his nature.

      Was she marrying a man who would set his wife aside the first time she crossed him? Clearly Adam Wymark could charm the finches from the trees if he had a mind, but how would he react if he found out about her newborn brother? How would he react if he knew she had concealed the fact that she had seen Emma yesterday? How would he react if he knew Cecily had seen her with one of her father’s housecarls in the Minster and—?

      A cold fist gripped her heart. She knew where Emma and Judhael had gone! Why had she not realised before?

      Hastily lowering her eyes, for Adam’s keen gaze was on her, and he seemed to possess an uncanny ability to read her mind, she let her thoughts run on. Judhael’s sister, Evie, had married one of Winchester’s goldsmiths—Leofwine. Judhael would take Emma to his sister’s house, to Evie and Leofwine…

      This was yet another secret to keep from Adam. She hid a groan. Another secret—as if she were not already the keeper of more secrets than anyone in Christendom.

      If Adam discovered any of them, how would he react? So far he had shown her only his gentle side, but he was the Duke’s man. Would he reject her out of hand? His trust would certainly be forfeit.

      Taking in a breath, Cecily raised her eyes and forced a smile. She would have to be very circumspect if he was not to find her out. She could not risk being set aside—not if she was to succeed in her aims.

      ‘What happened to Gwenn?’ she asked, and immediately wished she hadn’t, because his face became hard.

      ‘I do not wish to speak of her.’

      Easing himself back, Adam rolled away and out from under the blankets. Cecily was left to follow him with her eyes as he stretched his long body and combed his dark hair with his fingers. Then, without so much as a backward glance, he snatched up a cloak and strode towards the morning light that was creeping through the main door of the hall. It was as though, Cecily thought with a pang, they had never spent the night in each other’s arms; it was as though they had never kissed, had never agreed to marry.

      Adam Wymark, my betrothed. A Breton knight, the Duke’s man. He was once married to a woman named Gwenn, of whom he will not speak. What will he do if he discovers the secrets I am hiding from him? Will he ever love me? And why, Cecily thought with a grimace, should I be so concerned about that?

      Breakfast was taken in the Old Palace hall. Small ale, warm bread and a creamy white cheese that—luxury of luxuries—showed no sign of mould.

      Afterwards, Cecily picked up the blue fur-lined cloak and draped it over her arm. She had not seen Adam since he had left at cock crow.

      ‘Maurice?’

      ‘My lady?’ Maurice was sitting cross-legged on the floor, to all intents and purposes occupied in restitching a saddlebag.

      ‘Where is Sir Adam?’

      ‘He is…elsewhere in the city, on the Duke’s business.’

      She fiddled with the girdle of her habit. ‘Did he say when he will return?’ Not for some hours, she hoped.

      ‘No, lady.’

      ‘I’m going to the Minster. If he asks after me, please tell him.’

      Maurice glanced up. ‘You won’t go farther, my lady?’

      ‘No…no.’ Liar. Liar.

      Maurice’s brown eyes searched hers and then, apparently satisfied with what they saw, bent back over the saddlebag. ‘Good, because SirAdamwould string me up if anything happened to you.’

      ‘Oh. Yes. I…I shall only be in the Minster. At prayer.’

      ‘Very good, my lady.’

      Swinging the cloak about her shoulders, Cecily hurried outside, praying that Maurice had believed her, and praying also that he didn’t have instructions to follow her.

      It was bright, if chill in the Palace courtyard. The sky was patchy with cloud, and a low winter sun was throwing long shadows through them. A couple of Duke William’s knights were putting their horses through their paces, ready to turn the courtyard into a tiltyard as they wheeled their mounts and prepared to charge. Lance-tips gleamed. The horses’ breath hung in the air, and their hooves struck sparks on the cobblestones as they champed at their bits, impatient for the signal.

      Scurrying swiftly past, Cecily almost jumped out of her skin as someone barked out, ‘Roderick, get that beast out of here!’ The garrison commander. ‘If you must play at tourneying—’ the commander’s face was suffused with anger ‘—get round to the practice field. I’ll have no mêlée in the garrison forecourt.’

      Glancing over her shoulder at the door of the Palace—no sign of Maurice, thank the Lord—Cecily quickened her pace. In a moment she was through the Palace yard and out of the gates, staring up at the two Minsters.

      So, СКАЧАТЬ