Chapter 19

19

T here was a gap between two of the shutters that covered the window beside Sabinius's bed. It was just wide enough to let a sliver of fresh air through, creating a draft that was not strong enough to stir the heavy curtain, but determined enough to seep beneath the hem and tease the soles of Ellyn's feet. It was a welcome tease, for the room was hot and stuffy; she had sweated so much there were great round stains under the arms of her cote and chemise.

She stirred and stretched, glancing at the night candle to see how many hours had passed, then leaned forward, gently touching the back of her fingers to the old man's cheek. To be certain, she rested them across his forehead then against the side of his neck.

Sabinius's skin was cool and dry. His fever had broken.

She looked over at Rennwick de Beauvoir to share the good news, but he was fast asleep in the chair. His head was lolled back, resting against the wall. His arms were folded across his chest, but the rest of his big body was slack. His legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles. The weak amber light from the stub of the night candle glowed beside him, barely bright enough to show his face in all of its stark beauty.

And he was beautiful. It grew more and more difficult to deny that fact. The black hair, the emerald-colored eyes, the straight Roman nose and strong, square jaw. She dared not let her gaze linger too long on the shape of his mouth, for down that path lay danger.

It was not often she found moments when she could study him without fear of those dark eyes sensing the scrutiny. It was also in moments like this that she could admit she had possibly made an error in judgement. Sabinius's words of praise had made her doubt that de Beauvoir was the rogue and mercenary scoundrel she had first thought him to be. He was a knight, a champion of the lists, lauded for his honor and loyalty.

As Ellyn the Fletcher, she had always viewed such icons of chivalry from a distance. She had watched from afar as knights strutted about the tournament grounds, such fierce, arrogant pride on their faces and in their manner. The ladies who walked beside those gladiators of the lists were always breathtakingly beautiful, draped in jewels and silks, with ropes of gold draped around their necks and waists. Their sleeves alone were worth more than Ellyn could hope to earn in a lifetime of plucking and trimming goose feathers to fit to the shaft of an arrow.

She had initially challenged Renn's code of chivalry for stealing her out of Nottingham in the dead of night, making her wear the rags of a stable boy, and ride on the swayed back of an ass. In hindsight, she supposed she had been the one to go on the attack first, forcing his hand, for had she not thrown the first dagger, slashed at him with the first thrust of a blade? She had cut both him and Terrowin and if she had thought to feel smug about those small victories, knowing both men as she did now, she was certain either one could have disarmed her with a single swipe.

By the same token, if not for her skill with a bow, the four men would either be dead in the forest or wearing chains in Nottingham's dungeons.

She could have taken her chances and made good her escape.

She had done it before, she could have done it again, this time with more knowledge and courage than that of an eight-year-old child.

Instead, she had allowed those emerald green eyes to draw her down out of the trees and bring her here without further protest. Such was the power of his persuasively silvered tongue.

She leaned back in her chair, her gaze still fixed on his face.

No one should be that handsome. And no one that handsome should ever have kissed her. Even Lythwyn the Welshman, who had been considered the best of the lot in camp, had an eye that wandered and pocks on his chin. Despite the fact his kisses had tasted of garlic and sour ale, Ellyn had been flattered by the attention and allowed him to seduce her into opening her legs for him.

She blushed savagely at the memory and wondered what Rennwick's kiss would taste like. Pure sin, she supposed, and everything else she might have imagined had she allowed herself to dream of kissing someone as unattainable as a knight.

Her gaze flicked back to Sabinius. The questions still nagged: Who was he? Why did he know so much about her family? Who was this mysterious grand lady who had set all of these events in motion? If not a grandmother or great-grandmother or aunt or cousin…then who was she?

For that matter, who was Enndolynn Ware that she had not only earned the attention of knights and grand dames, but that of Edward Longshanks, King of England? Surely the years-old campfire whispers about her being a witch would not have warranted such attention. If he needed someone to read portents in old bones, there were a thousand self-proclaimed diviners who could offer the king flattering predictions.

Sabinius had said her grandmother was a witch. He had stated it as a fact, without quibble or crossing himself to guard against the blasphemy. Did he suspect her mother had also possessed such dark skills? Had he expected Ellyn to admit to knowing more than just how to make a posset or a poultice?

If that was the case, had she walked blithely into a trap by curing his fever and bloody cough?

Staring at the old man, troubled by the turn her thoughts had taken, it was several moments before she realized the agate eyes had opened and Sabinius was quietly watching her.

She blinked and leaned forward. "You are awake?"

"By the Grace of God, it would seem so. Either awake or in some nether world where the oaf who has been crushing my chest has become bored with the task and moved on. Forsooth, who could blame him," he added, wrinkling up his nose. "I smell like the inside of a vomit-filled boot."

Ellyn managed a smile. "You have had a high fever for the past two days and we have kept you wrapped in poultices, using everything shy of vomit and old boots to draw out the ill humors."

"Two days?" His voice was a dry rasp, yet it contained enough panic to waken Rennwick. "Two days you have delayed your departure?"

"You were coughing blood, my lord," Renn said, knuckling the sleep out of his eyes. "We could hardly leave you here burning with fever and no one to tend you."

"But Nottingham's men? They may have picked up the scent and followed you here."

"The gate is closed, the draw is up and there are sentries on the walls. Terrowin and Baldor have put sharp eyes in the forest to alert us if anyone approaches."

"And the ship?"

"As soon as Ellyn deems you well enough and out of danger I will send word to the captain."

"I am well enough!" Sabinius declared and struggled to raise himself onto his elbows. As thin and weak as he was, it was a futile effort at best and he collapsed back onto the pillows, his face blanched white, his body trembling.

Renn looked to Ellyn, who could only shake her head. "It could take a sennight or more for him to build enough strength to leave his bed."

"Too long," Sabinius gasped. "I was hoping to leave this dreary country of rain and fog, to see the flowered fields of Lavigne once more before I leave this earth, but alas, it is not yet my time, Rennwick de Beauvoir. You must take the girl and travel to Burgundy without me. I beg you send word to the captain now. Today. Without further delay."

Renn frowned. "I cannot—will not in all good conscience, leave here without you, my lord."

"You can and you will. Enndolynn must be protected at all costs. She must not fall back into Nottingham's accursed hands. She most definitely must not fall into the clutches of Edward Longshanks. I was tasked, we were both tasked , to get her safely away from England and by God and all His saints, Rennwick, on your honor, on your life, you must do this."

Renn raked his fingers through his hair in frustration. "It will take a full day for a courier to reach the ship and another for the ship to sail south into the bay. Perhaps by then—?"

"Perhaps by then I may regain enough strength to piss into a pot without someone guiding my cock," Sabinius said. "Something I will need assistance with now lest I send a fount of piss into the bedsheets."

With Ellyn and Rennwick's help, Sabinius was able to sit upright and balance on the edge of the bed long enough to relieve himself into a small bucket. Even that much effort strained him to the limit and he collapsed back onto the bed, his chest heaving, his mouth gaping open as the room spun round and round and round.

"God spare me the thought of clambering on board a ship and sailing to Calais on heavy seas," he gasped. "No. I will hear no more argumentation. You will dispatch a message as soon as possible. When the ship arrives in the bay, you will take Enndolynn Ware on board and make all haste to France. You will be taking the girl, Bethy, with you as well. The captain is a most accomplished smuggler and rogue, but even he would think it odd for a woman to be travelling alone in the company of four lusty knights. He has been well paid to take you as far as Calais, from whence you will travel with all haste to Dijon. You must not delay. The lady has come down from her mountain lair and awaits you there, a guest of the Duke of Burgundy. She is well protected by her loyal guardsmen but dares not linger long enough for the king's spies to tell him where to send an assassin. You must leave as soon as possible."

A weak wave of his bony hand forestalled any further protests. "If it will appease your conscience, by all means, send the ship back at once to fetch me. By that time I might be well enough to leave this accursed place. Now, both of you go. Leave me. I suspect neither of you have enjoyed much rest over the past two days whilst I have dallied here. Send in the old crone with the squinty eye and more hair on her chin than Moses. She will bathe the stench off me and feed me as much of that wretched posset as I can hold without adding my own vomit to it."

Ellyn was sorely tempted by the thought of a soft bed and pillows.

"I am comfortable child," he assured her. "You have the healing touch, like your mother. Go now. Send in the crone; she has been wanting to see me naked for years. She is usually sitting by the hearth in the great hall counting the mouthfuls of food the men eat."

"I know the one you mean," Renn said. "I will fetch her."

Sabinius's eyes closed and his head lolled to one side. Ellyn looked to Rennwick, who only shrugged and stood to stretch out his back. She gathered up some loose cloths and the basin of old water and rose. She deposited both on the long wooden table that had served as a stand for her herbs and medicaments then, without waiting to see if Rennwick was following, headed for the door.

Out in the corridor, however, she hesitated. Instead of turning left toward her tower rooms, she turned right and followed the flickering row of wall sconces to the end of the long hall. From there, she pushed against a heavy oak door and stepped outside into a rush of cool, damp air. There was no dawn light to speak of. The sky was a leaden gray, thick with cloud and there was still a layer of mist hovering over the towers and spires. Two servants were standing by the central well drawing water, but otherwise the yard was deserted. The scrape of a foot drew her attention up to the wall-walk where a pair of sentries slowly patrolled along the battlements.

She had not been certain of her goal when she came out of doors, but when she saw the dark outline of the bathhouse roof, she turned her feet in that direction, having it in her mind to bathe away the sweat and stench of the sick room.

As she walked, she unfastened the front of her tunic, letting the air through to the thin linen chemise beneath. Because of the stifling heat in Sabinius's room, she had been keeping her hair in a thick braid, and she unplaited that too, combing through the twists and turns with her fingers until she was able to shake it loose and free.

There was no one else about. The door to the bathhouse squeaked a bit on its rope hinges, but otherwise, there was only silence. A single fat candle was burning in the corner, barely bright enough to relieve the gloom. The wooden tub was an oversized barrel, twelve feet across with an iron plate underneath. She was happy to see there was water in the tub, and that someone had added logs to the embers glowing beneath. The water was not kept hot, but it was warm enough for her purposes and far more appealing than a cold cloth dipped in a washbasin in her chamber.

She shrugged out of her tunic and slippers, then climbed the four wooden steps and slipped into the tub wearing only her chemise, which could benefit from a good soaking as well. She sank up to her neck, then tipped her head back to wet her hair. There were bars of thick, coarse soap on a ledge beside the tub, as well as sponges and folded cloths to use for towelling. For the moment, however, Ellyn just wanted to let the soothing water ease some of the tension from the past few days. She walked to the middle of the tub and spread her arms wide, spinning slowly in the water, relishing the feel of it against her skin. She waded to one of the submerged benches and wet her hair again before closing her eyes and leaning back with a great, deep sigh.

It could only have been a minute or two before she heard the squeak of the rope hinges and popped her eyes open again. Despite the depth of shadows, there was no mistaking the long black curls and broad shoulders of Rennwick de Beauvoir as he entered the bathhouse and closed the door behind him. His hands were at his waist, unbuckling his belt. He had it off and was about to lift his tunic over his head when he heard a splash of water and turned.

For a long moment, neither one of them spoke or even blinked.

"I see we both had the same idea."

"So it would seem," she said, sinking down to her chin. "Unless, of course, following me here was no accident."

"And if I said it was?"

"I would be tempted to call you a liar. And to say that you still do not trust me."

He frowned and dropped his belt to the boards and started to unbuckle his tunic. "I have as much faith in you as your past actions have warranted. And as much as on the look on your face when Sabinius said there must be no delay in getting you to France."

"Has anyone thought to ask me if I want to go to France? It seems as though everyone has taken it for granted that I will willingly follow along like some addled sheepshead. What if I said I have no desire to leave England?"

"I thought Sabinius explained—"

"He explained nothing. He hinted at some plot by the king to have me brought to London but then said he was, himself, following a command given by some mysterious lady in Burgundy whose name he would not share. Nor would he share her reasons for wanting to have me brought there. He filled my head with tales of my mother and grandparents—tales which I have no way of knowing if they are true or false—then he expects me to board a ship and sail away from the only place I have ever called home, and to do so without the courtesy of a reason or explanation. Now you stand there and tell me you do not trust me enough to even bathe by myself!"

"I am too weary to offer explanations or apologies," he said.

"At the least, you could wait a few minutes until I finish."

"I could. But since I smell like the underside of a goat's scrotum, I would as soon not wait."

And he didn't. He stripped off his shirt and untied the points of his leggings with a few rapid flicks of his wrists. Belt and braes joined the heap of his clothes and he was on the steps, blocking Ellyn's exit.

The solitary candle was behind him and she saw not much more than his silhouette. That did little to stop her from imagining the rest, however, and she studiously averted her eyes. He kept to the opposite side of the tub and, after dunking his head several times and shaking the water out of his hair like a shaggy dog, he sat on a bench and spread his arms wide, resting his hands on the wooden rim.

"I have neglected to thank you," he said after a moment.

"For what?"

"For whatever magic you wove to bring Sabinius through the fever."

"Possets and poultices are not magic," she said, careful not to meet his eyes .

"No. But surely there is skill in knowing how to blend and use them. Knowledge I and the others, alas, are sorely lacking. When Roger lost his foot, the best Terrowin and I could do was vomit outside the tent rather than on his bed."

"You have both helped him heal in other ways."

"By making him a wooden foot?"

"By keeping him with you. By letting him ride with you. By bringing him from Burgundy with you and not leaving him behind to sit by the fire and ponder living out his days as a useless cripple."

"You misjudge Roger's character. He is too full of himself to ever think himself a useless cripple."

Ellyn lifted a handful of water to her shoulder and let it run down. "You say that in jest, but I warrant the thought of leaving him behind never occurred to you."

Renn smiled, watching the movement of her hand and the sparkle of the water as it flowed down her arm. "We four have, indeed, always ridden into trouble together. It would feel like losing one of our own limbs to leave anyone behind."

"And just like that," she snapped her fingers, "I have gone from being a magical healer back to being trouble."

"You were never not trouble," he said quietly. "Not to my peace of mind, at any rate."

Ellyn's heartbeat quickened slightly. She blamed the tepid water for a sudden shiver that passed through her body, also for the tangible tightening of the sensitive skin across her breasts. Her nipples puckered into hard little buds and her belly took a slow, liquid slide down to the juncture of her thighs.

"It is late," she said on a stilted breath. "I should go back to my chamber now."

She stood and started to walk toward the steps, unaware that the gauzy fabric of her chemise had been rendered completely transparent in the water and clung to her body in a gossamer layer. Renn could not help but see every curve of her waist and breasts, or the two roseate buds that strained against the smock.

In two watery strides he was there before her, blocking the way. Startled, she looked up into his face, but that was too dangerous and she dropped her gaze to his chest.

"Let me pass," she whispered.

But he stood solidly before her, not moving. His shoulders were rimmed in gold from the candle and droplets of water fell from his hair like pinpoints of light.

"It is important that you do what Sabinius asks. If for no other reason than to ensure your own safety."

"I can take care of myself."

"You have proven you have a keen eye and a strong bow arm," he agreed. "But neither seemed to save you from being taken captive by Harold Falconard and neither stopped us from carrying you away from the castle in the dead of night."

"I am no one's chattel to be passed from hand to hand," she insisted through trembling lips. "Not his. Not yours. Certes, not that of some unknown lady in Burgundy. If I wish to stay in England, I will stay. If I choose to leave, it will be on my own terms, sirrah."

"And what might those terms be?"

"Trust. Honesty. The truth."

When he did not respond right away, she made the mistake of looking up at him and felt every grain of common sense desert her. Those eyes. Was there a woman anywhere in Christendom who could resist being drawn into their dark depths?

"Have I ever said or done anything to make you distrust me? Have I lied to you? Aside from not correcting your impression that we were riding south, not north, have I misled you in any way?" He could read the grudging answer in her expression, for his own softened and his hands came up and cradled her face between them. "You ask for honesty and truth. Both stand before you now. Push away and I will do nothing to stop you from going wherever you wish to go."

He was too close. He was too naked. She could feel the heat of his body causing the tiny hairs on her arms to stand on end. Her hands came up out of the water and pressed flat against his chest, but instead of pushing, her fingers slowly spread wide over the armor-hard muscles. Hair as dark as the locks on his head lay like smooth fur across his breastplate luring her fingers higher. The pads of her fingertips found scars, small and large, marring the surface of his skin, a testament to battles fought and won. He bore a fresh mark, almost healed, on the ridge of his cheek, one she had placed there the first time they met, when he had appeared like an uninvited wraith through the wall.

"Please. You must let me go," she whispered. "Or I will be lost."

He bowed his head, his lips almost touching hers. "You will never be lost. I will always find you."

She looked up. And sighed.

He caught the sigh, matching the escaped breath with his own as he covered her mouth and kissed her.

In the next instant, the world spun away. His mouth was warm and urgent and she leaned into him, feeling the sweet, hot rush flood through her body. There was barely another thought or hesitation before their two bodies were coming together, arms circling, flesh pressing, mouths unashamedly eager, hungry. Renn's lips were bold and demanding. His tongue lashed between her lips, brash and insistent, and she felt her limbs starting to melt, felt the heat of desire coursing throughout her body.

Renn reached down to the hem of her chemise and dragged the sodden garment up until it was bunched around her waist. Then she was in his arms again, his strong hands were lifting her, parting her thighs, opening her to his hard flesh.

With the first upward thrust, Ellyn's mouth broke free and her mouth opened through a soundless cry. He was thick and solid, and she felt her tender flesh stretching to sheath him. Her entire body reacted to the shock and her hands briefly lost their grip on his shoulders, but on the second thrust, she was reaching up eagerly, clawing her fingers into his hair, crying out softly with disbelief and wonder. He held fast, easing back slightly then thrust deeply a third and fourth time, lifting her higher, plunging her down harder, his mouth swallowing her cries as her body began to arch and shudder.

She groaned raggedly and rocked her hips, searching out bursts of pleasure independent of his hands, the ferocity of her need mounting in her blood, driving her to pull him deeper, to squeeze around him and feel every inch of bold, sliding flesh.

Nothing, not the lewd whispers of camp followers or the crudely perfunctory hip thrusts of Lythwyn the Welshman could have prepared her for the shattering brilliance of her first real orgasm. The spasms gripped her body. The streaks of pleasure were long and scalding, the breath-stealing ecstasy wondrous and terrifying at the same time.

Renn's body stayed rigid within hers as he weathered her pulsations, his breath hot on her neck, his arms wrapped tightly around her. When the clenching of those silky muscles became too much to bear, he made a fierce sound in his throat and thrust up one last time, straining into her with his own explosive release.

Ellyn had no idea how long they stood locked together like that. It could have been seconds; it could have been minutes. For however long it was, she could feel the thudding of his flesh inside her and the husky, spent gusts of breath against the crook of her neck.

Renn staggered back a step, his grip around her hips staying firm but his legs losing some of their strength. It was several moments more before he could tip his head up and meet her eyes. What she saw reflected there sent another flush of shimmering heat through her limbs, for it was clear he had been caught as much off guard as she by the intensity of their shared passion.

When it became apparent that neither one could think of a thing to say or how to say it, he ran a hand up her back and threaded his fingers into her hair, guiding her head down onto his shoulder. Ellyn's legs slid down from his waist and where her skin was exposed to the cool air, it pimpled with gooseflesh. Feeling her involuntary shiver, he dipped down so they were both submerged to their shoulders in the warm water.

He blew out a slow, measured breath. "I pray you believe me when I say that was not planned. It was not my intent to take advantage or… or to… treat you like…"

He seemed to run out of words and she lifted her head to look at him. "Like chattel?"

The look of utter horror that came across his face was so desperately honest she felt like biting off the end of her tongue. "I was not a virgin, my lord. You did not take anything from me that I was not willing to give."

"Even so. I should have had more self-control. "

"As should I," she agreed. "I should have pushed past you."

"I should have kept to my seat."

"You should not have kissed me."

"You should not have kissed me back."

"I did do that," she acknowledged in a whisper.

"Yes, you did."

She sighed and melted against him again, resting her head on his shoulder. "There, you see? We were equally to blame."

"Logic, milady, has no home here. I took advantage."

"Of what, my lord?" She lifted her head again. "My weakened, helpless state? Think you for a moment I could not have launched a knee into your groin and sent you howling back to your side of the tub?"

The flickering candlelight revealed the slow return of humor to his dark eyes. It also showed them wiped clear again as the sound of running footsteps heralded the arrival of a much out-of-breath Terrowin of Wykeham as he burst through the door of the bathhouse.

"A forester has just come in with news. There are men in the woods. Nottingham's men."