A Tapestry of Dreams Page 21

“Questions to obtain information are different. It is idle chatter, such as comment on the good or bad points of the stock or the weather or the possibilities for a good harvest—suchlike talk bores him.”

  “Very practical.”

  Hugh chuckled, but he looked sidelong at Audris, remembering how silent her aunt had been and thinking that it was no wonder Audris valued Bruno and wished for him. She must be starved for a friend, for someone to talk with, and that confirmed the solution to Audris’s behavior that had finally occurred to him after she had run away. He knew that she had seen his physical arousal and fled from it, not because she was ignorant or innocent in the sense of lacking understanding of what the arousal meant—that was impossible for a woman of her age, especially one who spoke so familiarly about mares and stallions. Nor did Hugh believe she was frightened, for he had seen the desire in her face when she looked at his naked body.

  Audris, he had come to understand, acted first and thought later. It was that conclusion that had prompted him to behave so calmly at the evening meal; he knew it must be his responsibility to think ahead for both of them. Not that she lacked the ability to think—her management of her uncle proved that—but sheltered as she was, she had never had a real reason to curb her openness and impulsiveness. Hugh also knew what would happen if he offered a suggestive word or gesture when they dismounted as Audris planned. She would offer herself to him as openly and innocently as a young doe, with no more thought for what might follow her action than a doe’s. He could not permit that, no matter how his body raged with desire. He must make her think. After that…

  “You are right about one thing, though,” Audris said, breaking the little silence that had fallen. “It was very odd that my uncle nearly fell into your arms and pressed you so straitly to come with me. It was not like him at all.”

  “Perhaps he thought my presence would prevent you from going somewhere or doing something he disapproved?” For just an instant jealousy reared its leering head, and Hugh wondered whether the hunger betrayed by the swift flick of Audris’s tongue over her parted lips could be felt by one utterly innocent.

  “But he knew what I wished to do,” Audris assured Hugh. “He did forbid me to climb to the falcon’s nest on the cliffs for fear some rock, loosened by the rain, might fall, but after I said that you would hold me on a rope, he—he did not approve, but he did not forbid me.” She saw the look of horror on Hugh’s face, and fearing he believed that she was forcing him into the difficult position of secretly helping her commit an act of disobedience, she added hastily, “I would not disobey my uncle in what he straitly forbade.”

  Hugh scarcely heard the last sentence. “Hold you on a rope,” he repeated incredulously, even more horrified than if she had admitted she usually met a lover when she rode out alone. “You cannot mean what you say.”

  Audris’s apparent fragility had become familiar enough that Hugh was no longer constantly aware of it, but her casual talk of hanging over a cliff on a rope brought into vivid focus the translucent skin over the fine, light bones of her face and the narrow, long-fingered hands, seemingly as delicate and frangible as the limbs of a songbird.

  “But Uncle Oliver told you—” Audris began, and then began to laugh as revelation came to her. She recalled that her uncle had said nothing about hawk nests, only suggested that Hugh ride out with his niece. Now Audris knew why Oliver had been so cordial and so urgent; he had expected Hugh to be horrified and refuse her.

  The joyous trills of laughter woke memories in Hugh also. He saw the expression on Bruno’s face more than a year past and heard him curse himself for teaching Audris to climb. Audris had laughed then, too, cozening her half brother, calling him dearling, and distracting them— No, she had not. That greedy pig Lusors had interrupted them, and the subject of climbing had been buried under more immediate tensions. Now Audris was shaking her head.

  “I have been taken in my own snare,” she said merrily. “I thought I had been so clever and maneuvered my uncle into agreeing that I could go on the cliffs, for he did not say a word against it after I told him you would hold me and not let me fall, and instead he put you in as his champion—all unknowing, too.” She laughed again and then, still smiling, shrugged. “Ah, well, let it be. I will just check the nests in the lower forest.”

  “And how do you do that?” Hugh asked.

  Audris’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I climb the trees. Uncle does not think it proper, but he knows it is not dangerous, so—” She stopped speaking suddenly and stopped her mare, gesturing for Hugh to stop also, and then whispered, “Oh, look, is that not like the land of faerie?”

  They had come to the crest of the rather low ridge, which fell away in a gentle slope to the east, much like the rise they had climbed. To the north, the spine of the ridge continued to rise more and more steeply until it culminated in a sheer but broken face of rock. If one looked eastward, though, ignoring the wild and threatening jumble to the north, one saw only the beauty of the small valley created by a minor tributary of the river. The mist was so thin now that the sparkling stream, the slender saplings that bordered it, and the single buck drinking at its edge were all clearly visible. Nonetheless, all seemed to be swathed in the most delicate of veils, which gave an aura of unreality and mysterious loveliness to the scene. Hugh did not dare speak lest his deeper voice carry and betray them, but soon his stallion stamped and snorted. The buck lifted his wide-horned head, silver streams of water raining from his muzzle. One moment more he stood, then turned and fled.

  Audris breathed a tremulous sigh and looked up at Hugh’s face, but his eyes were still on the misty valley; they were luminous with love, and his lips were relaxed and soft, his whole expression one of peace and contentment, Then he blinked, drew a sharp breath, and looked with practical attention at the area.

  Audris noted the change. “Do you think to hunt him tomorrow?” she asked neutrally.

  Hugh turned his head, looking startled. “God forbid! He has given me such pleasure, I only wish he could be marked somehow to make him safe. If I hunt by your uncle’s invitation, I will go south and west. Not here. I could not spill blood here.” Then his lips twisted. “I daresay you think me a fool. I am sure many hunts have passed over this valley.”

  “I cannot say whether others might think you a fool,” Audris said softly, “for I do not always think as others do. To me, you are not. I do not think it foolish to be grateful for a gift that brings so much delight or to wish to keep the bringer safe in the hope the gift will be renewed.” She smiled at him. “There is no hunting in this valley, except with hawks. I begged my uncle to spare it many years ago, and so far he has done so.”

  Hugh nodded without answering. He thought it kind of Sir Oliver to leave Audris’s valley untouched, but knew it was not a great sacrifice, for it was small and the deer could escape easily up slopes and into woodlands with much low growth that would make pursuit on horseback unpleasant and frustrating. Audris had prodded her mare forward gently, and Hugh followed, but she did not go far. Perhaps some fifty yards from the top the slope flattened in a rough semicircle. On either side of the level patch the decline was regular, but a huge boulder or an intrusion of harder rock had not worn away as quickly as the rest of the hillside. Over the years, soil wearing from the crest above had packed down on the firm base so that now the lip of the semicircular table ended in a sharp dropoff. It was not more than fifteen or twenty feet high, but from below they would be invisible if they sat or lay a few feet back from the edge, yet sitting they would be able to look down into the valley.

  A slithering sound made Hugh turn, his sword half drawn, but it was only Fritha coming on foot with the rolled blankets in her arms. Without instruction she undid the blankets’ lashings and spread them. Hugh dismounted quickly, but before he could come to Audris’s aid she had slid down herself and handed her rein to the maid.

  “Will Rufus go with Fritha?” she a
sked. “I like to tie the horses on the other side of the ridge so they will not frighten whatever creature might come into the valley.”

  “I would rather see him settled myself,” Hugh said. Rufus was calm now, not changed out of a horse’s proper nature into a crazed killer by the scent of blood and the sounds of battle, but the stallion was always high-strung, and Hugh wanted no accidents.

  “Do not forget to bring Thurstan’s parchment back with you,” Audris urged, “and if you are hungry, ask Fritha for the basket with the cheese and wine.”

  He returned alone, carrying the basket in one hand and a somewhat crumpled roll of parchment in the other. Audris was surprised when Fritha did not come with him, for she had not instructed her maid to stay behind. She blushed faintly, assuming that Hugh had told her to stay with the animals and wondered whether it was only Hugh’s concern for his fine stallion being out of sight or whether it was a device to be alone with her. Both ideas disturbed her in different ways, but what disturbed her most of all was that she did not know which she wanted to be his reason.

  “I am sure there will be some clue in the parchment that you can follow,” Audris said hastily and in a rather breathless voice.

  Hugh smiled at her, set the basket down, sat down himself, and unrolled the parchment, holding it so that Audris could also read. She sat stiffly for a few minutes, but soon she was absorbed in the tale Thurstan had recorded and leaned confidingly against Hugh without realizing it.

  “How sad. How very sad,” Audris murmured. “I wonder why she left the nuns? It is clear that she was well provided. See here what Thurstan says of the furnishing of her chamber—her own sheets and her gowns, though few, of the best cloth, and fine swaddling for the babe—” She broke off and looked up at him. “You were that babe. It is very strange to think of you as a babe, Hugh. You are so big.”

  “Perhaps that killed her,” he said, frowning.

  He had thought as little as possible about his parentage over the years of his youth, and even when Thurstan had introduced the subject, he had not felt much, except for a flicker of gladness and pride that he had meant enough to his mother to spark her desperate struggle to place him in safety. Now he felt a sharp pang of grief and guilt, and he looked at Audris’s small body and shuddered.

  “I should not think so,” Audris replied thoughtfully. “I have seen large babes born of small women with ease and small ones that could not be born at all. The fault seems to be in the woman, although sometimes it is needful to turn the babe. In any case, Hugh, it is not something you had any choice about. There can be neither guilt nor sin when free will is absent. What happened was in God’s hands, not in yours. And it is long, long over now. What interests me is why she fled the convent.”

  Hugh was very willing to leave the unpleasant idea that had occurred to him and admitted there did not seem to be any reason for his mother’s action. It was clear that she had gone willingly to the nuns. A small troop of men had escorted her there, but none had entered the convent with her, and all the nuns knew was that the men rode away at once. After that, she could have left at any time, for she had the wherewithal to pay new protectors and to find other lodging if she wished. They pored over the parchment, but could find no other fact of significance except the list of nuns who had at one time or another attended Hugh’s mother.

  “You will have to go back to the convent and speak to those who are still alive yourself,” she said.

  “They will remember nothing at all after all this time,” Hugh replied. “Why are you so set on my finding out my mother’s people? Audris, I hope you will not think me a coxcomb, but I have seen that you favor me. I cannot guess why. God knows I am no beauty—”

  “Your eyes are beautiful,” Audris said, smiling, “and your mouth is gentle and tender, but I would not care even if you had no feature at all with charm. You do not look at land only to see if it is fit for sheep or for the plow or for the hunt. You see that sometimes a place may be of value for itself, for its beauty alone. And you do not see me as a key that will unlock a box of property. You looked at me, at me as Bruno looks at me. I told you that when we first rode out together more than a year ago.”

  “I do not look at you as Bruno looks at you,” Hugh said deliberately. “You must understand that, Audris. I do not feel as a brother feels.”

  Color stained her cheeks as memory brought back the image of that raised shaft with the foreskin drawn back from its reaching red head. “I know that,” she whispered, looking down at her fingers twining restlessly in her lap.

  “And you must know also that finding my mother’s people—and perhaps even my father’s, if he was not some common churl—probably still would not make me a fit suitor for you.”

  Audris lifted her head. “I never thought about that,” she said earnestly. “It was for your sake—and for any who remembered your mother with love, if there be any—that I urge you to follow the trail. Hugh, you must answer the doubts in your own heart.” She put her hand over his. “It is better to know—even a bad thing—than to doubt. But truly, I am sure you need have no doubts about your father’s blood. Remember the troop of men who came with your mother and the rich furnishings. And remember that the nuns said she spoke with confidence of her husband returning for her.”

  “He did not return, nor was there any other who came to ask about her,” Hugh pointed out, but there was no longer force or bitterness behind the remark. It was more a warning to himself, for a faint hope was beginning to stir in Hugh.

  The points he and Audris were discussing were all significant, and Hugh found that he was less doubtful about his ancestry. Audris had suggested that his mother hid her name because her husband had been a rebel. Hugh had been born in 1114, in the first third of the late King Henry’s reign, just about the time the king felt strong enough to make demands on his vassals and expect instant obedience. Henry could be very vindictive and also liked to provide a few horrible examples as warnings. Say his father had been imprisoned and died in prison or executed outright, Hugh thought; he would never have betrayed his wife’s hiding place. She had been heavy with child. If the babe were a boy, as it had been, his father would not want his wife and his heir in the king’s hands too. Could an estate have been forfeit—possibly to the king himself? Crown lands could be returned to a disseised man’s heir! Hugh knew he already had Stephen’s favor, and if Sir Walter would use his influence…

  Dreams! All dreams because he desired a woman. “So if you do not care whether I am suitable as a husband,” Hugh went on, his voice suddenly harsh, “what do you want of me?”

  “I want a man who does not scorn me as a pale nothing that he must take to get Jernaeve,” she said bitterly and shook her head as Hugh tried to protest. “And you are beautiful to me,” she went on, blushing but meeting his eyes. “I love your face, which is so different, and your body… is very beautiful.”

  Hugh started to bend his head to kiss her, remembered his promise to himself, and pulled back. “Audris, you must not leap at each idea that comes into your head. I assure you that my body is much like that of other men. There is nothing special in it. And if you would talk to others as you talk to me, many men would look at you with desire.”

  “Is that true?” Audris asked.

  “What, that all men’s bodies are the same or that you are a desirable woman?” Hugh countered.

  “I have seen other bodies,” Audris said. “They are not all the same, but I know what you mean.”

  “Then, in the same way,” Hugh snapped angrily, “I cannot swear that every man would desire you, but many would.”

  “I am glad of that.” Audris smiled brilliantly. “I would not want you to be cheated.”

  “What?” Hugh exclaimed, startled.

  “Why should you be satisfied with what no other man would want?” Audris teased. “Do you have such poor taste? Or, if you desire me out of pity, thus taking only
half a loaf or a quarter, would you not be deprived—or still hungry? So I am glad you think others would want me too.”

  The smiling face turned up to his was irresistible. Hugh caught the back of her head with one hand, her chin with the other, and pressed his mouth on hers. Initially the kiss was as much a mark of his irritation as of his desire, but when Audris’s arms went around him and her lips answered eagerly to his, he forgot he had been angry. He let go of her chin, knowing there was no need to hold her, that she would not pull away, and used that arm to press her against him.

  In the circle of his arm, she was so slight, so pliant, that he did not dare take his support from her head lest the force of his kiss break her neck. It was a silly idea, but still, fear began to mingle with Hugh’s passion. And he had sworn to himself he would not take her, not unless… Hugh did not permit himself to complete that thought. He drew back his head, turned his face away, and slackened his grip on her.

  “For pity’s sake, Audris,” he whispered. “Say me nay. Help me. I am only a man, and what we are doing is wrong.”

  Unicorn, Audris thought triumphantly, not an uncaring bull but a pure, fierce unicorn, gentle only to the maiden. The word brought a faint chill of doubt. For the unicorn, the maiden was a trap; she held him and subdued his ferocity so the hunters could kill him. Audris’s arms tightened convulsively around Hugh for an instant; then she told herself it was the maiden’s choice. If the maiden were faithful to the unicorn instead of to the hunters, no harm would come to him. She unlocked her arms from his neck and cupped his face in her hands, turning it toward her again.

  “Do you feel sinful?” she asked.

  Hugh looked into her pale, clear, pool-deep eyes. For once there was no laughter, no light teasing there; her expression was solemn, even sad. “No!” he exclaimed passionately. “For you are my woman, and the only woman in the world to me. Whatever comes after, I shall cleave to you, forsaking all others.”