A Tapestry of Dreams (13 page)

It was easy enough for Hugh to convince his waking mind and suppress desires he knew to be unobtainable; once asleep, however, the chains he had fastened to his aspirations shattered, and in his dream he climbed the stairs to Audris’s tower to find her waiting for him with open arms. She was warm and soft and naked, and he bent to suck the rosy nipples of her breasts, then sank to his knees to kiss the pale curls of her mound of Venus, to seek with his tongue the little one in her nether mouth. She held his head to her, tickled his ears, stroked his neck, trembled, and cried out… and Hugh woke again, gasping and appalled at his dream’s lewdness. Only it did not feel like lewdness.

Hugh knew lewdness. While he was still a boy, he had been goaded by the taunts of his fellow squires and the other men with whom he served to lose his virginity to one of the castle whores. He was aware that the act was weak and sinful, and his pleasure had been mixed with horror and disgust. Confession, and a surprisingly light penance, had soothed away the horror, but the disgust remained and, though Hugh used women when his need grew strong, he had never enjoyed his couplings as a clean and unstained act. Nor had he ever caressed a bought woman as he had dreamt of caressing Audris; that knowledge had come from what others had told him, some intending honestly to instruct him and a few teasing, trying to incite him to further violate what they felt was a priggish purity. Yet Hugh felt no lewdness, no disgust, in the dream. His body had responded, yes, but with a pure joy that left no ugly stain.

Still, it was dangerous to allow himself to feel such desire for Audris. Awake, Hugh felt only a calm sadness and a strong determination that she should never know of or be disturbed by his passion. Not trusting himself to sleep again, he opened his eyes, grateful to discover that the dim grayness of dawn was seeping around the edges of the shutters. Hugh crossed his arms behind his head and wondered whether he would have the pleasure of playing bodyguard to Audris again or whether she would use the simpler defense of staying in her chamber. Involuntarily, his eyes strayed to the entry to the south tower and rested there. He hardly realized where he was looking, his mind dwelling with pleasure and amusement on various incidents of the previous evening. Slowly, as the light grew stronger, he became aware of the dark hump near the doorway—and then it moved, and Hugh realized someone was sleeping there.

Bruno, he thought. But Bruno had been beside him, and Hugh did not remember him leaving his place. He turned to look. Bruno was still there. Frowning, Hugh raised himself on his elbow, saw there was an empty bench among the group sleeping nearest the hearth, and uttered a muffled curse. Apparently one of Stephen’s men had not given up and was waiting to catch Audris as she came down. Hugh started to push away the fleece under which he had been sleeping and then changed his mind. Probably Audris would not come down until it was time for Mass, and he did not want to provoke a quarrel with one of Stephen’s men. He could watch from where he was until all woke.

Hugh had scarcely resettled himself, however, when a cloaked and hooded form came out of the tower doorway and moved silently across the hall to the outer door. This was latched shut but not barred—in fact, as they had been settling to sleep, Hugh had heard one of the squires joke to a neighbor that there was no sense in barring the door when the enemy was already within. The hooded form opened the door and slipped out. Since the person sleeping near the doorway had not moved, Hugh’s eyes had naturally followed the figure in motion, and he had begun to think that either he was mistaken or, more likely, he had misjudged the size of the cloaked person and it was Audris’s maid who had gone out on some errand.

By the time the door was pushed shut, however, the prone form was up, slinging a cloak over his shoulders, and hurrying to follow. Hugh stood up too, annoyed because he had not thought, as soon as he saw the form near Audris’s door, to pull on his outer tunic and his shoes, which were the only garments he and the other squires—who did not merit the luxury of a bench and flock mattress to protect them from the drafts while they slept—had removed. He was sorry if Audris was harassed, but no longer felt any anxiety about a marriage being forced on her by a false claim, so he did not hurry about adjusting his clothes, and even took the time to comb down his unruly red hair and rinse out his mouth.

Audris was vexed when Warner de Lusors burst into the mews on her heels and greeted her with a fulsome and ridiculous compliment, comparing her “blushing beauty” to the dawn, and she answered only with a brusque nod. She was aware of the anger he felt, but she was too eager to be rid of him to be cautious. With so determined a pursuer, cold courtesy might not be enough. Rudeness was more direct.

She turned her back on Lusors to face the falconer, who had been waiting in the mews for her since dawn in response to a message sent the previous evening. Both of them were standing by the perch of a magnificent gyrfalcon; the bird had turned her hooded head and opened her beak to hiss at the sound of Lusors’s voice, mantling her wings slightly. Audris uttered a cooing sound and caressed her with a large goose feather, and the bird quieted.

“But is she well enough trained?” the falconer asked anxiously when he realized his mistress wished to ignore the intruder. “Only you have flown her, and as you see, she still does not like a man’s voice, except mine.”

“I know,” Audris replied. “My uncle has had no opportunity to take her out. Yet she is the finest falcon we have had, and I wished to give the king a rich gift, since I have already denied him what he came for.”

“What of Warlock?” the falconer asked, moving down the mews toward another perch.

Audris followed without a glance at Lusors, who gritted his teeth with rage. While she and the falconer discussed the merits of the second bird, he considered abandoning his project. He had actually turned to leave when Audris said, “I think this decision must be left to my uncle. Go and explain the problem to him.” The falconer looked surprised, and Audris added, “I am going out, and I will not be back before the king leaves. Go now, Nils, and see if you can catch my uncle alone.”

The falconer bowed and left. Audris chucked to Warlock and moved still farther down the mews, speaking to each bird and examining its reaction and appearance with care. She heard Lusors approaching and grimaced with distaste, turning her head ostentatiously away and hunching a shoulder angrily in his direction. She was therefore totally unprepared when he seized her, turned her forcefully about, and plastered his lips over her mouth. The attack stunned her. Within her memory, no one had ever seized her and held her against her will. Aside from instinctively pulling her head away from the repulsive, wet kiss that was smothering her, Audris was too surprised to struggle.

“You are as clever as you are beautiful,” Lusors whispered. “I did not understand until you sent the falconer away and explained your absence and what you planned. We will be together—and then it will be too late. Your uncle will be forced to agree to our marriage.”

“What are you talking about?” Audris asked. “Let me go!”

“Ah, how sweet, how innocent!” Lusors laughed. “But there is no need to play these little tricks on me. I understand that you felt you must seem to dislike me so that no one would suspect your favor—but we are alone now. There is no need to be coy. What I meant—well, we can find a private place, and I will teach you the pleasure to be had from that ripe, lovely body of yours. Then, when I have your maidenhead, I will take you to the king, and we will confess—and be married at once.”

“You are mad!” Audris gasped, still not struggling because she could not believe her ears.

“Oh, no,” Lusors assured her, misunderstanding. “I know you are afraid of your uncle, but there is no need. Once we are married, I will be with you and protect you.”

“You idiot!” Audris exclaimed, but still in a low voice. “I am not afraid of my uncle. Let me go!”

And on the words, she kicked Lusors on the ankle and wrenched herself free. Her escape was possible because Lusors’s grip had slackened while they talked. Now his surprise gave her a moment’s time to step back, but rage at her “cheating” him soon flooded in, and he leapt forward to seize her again. He caught only her cloak. Audris whirled away, and the broach that closed the garment came loose. Lusors cast it from him with an oath and sprang again, this time catching her left arm. She swung back toward him, using the impetus of the turn to add to the full strength of her right arm as she struck him in the face with her clenched fist. Unprepared for any blow, Lusors did not dodge, and Audris’s fist caught him in the eye and the side of the nose. Blood burst from his nose, and he howled, releasing his grip on her arm.

“Be still!” Audris hissed. “You cow turd! You will frighten the birds.”

She was afraid as well as angry now, but she dared not run out of the mews lest Lusors, who she was sure was a madman, wreak vengeance on her hawks. Neither did she dare call for help; her screams would also disturb the birds and, even though they were hooded, might startle them enough to try to fly. If they rose to the length of the thongs that fastened them to their perches, they could be jerked out of the air and fall to hang upside down, doing incalculable damage both to their bodies and their spirits. She stepped backward, nervously fixing her eyes on Lusors, whose face was distorted horribly by rage and smeared blood. He had first raised his hand to cup his nose and eye, as if he needed the evidence of touch to assure him that Audris had struck him so hard, but then he had spread his arms so she could not dart by him and started to advance on her.

“Lusors!”

The deep male voice was not loud, but the authority in it froze Sir Warner in his tracks.

“Hugh!” Audris breathed, then cried out softly as Lusors, infuriated beyond reason, spun around and charged.

He was met by a single blow that caught him on the chin and snapped his head back. Audris ran forward, afraid that he would fall against a perch, but Hugh had already reached out and caught the unconscious man. In a smooth, experienced movement, he swung Lusors up on his shoulder and carried him out of the mews. Audris ran after them, snatching up her cloak as she went and catching Hugh by the arm to stop him. He turned his head toward her; his long jaw was set, his blue eyes blazing with a murderous rage, but Audris clung to him.

“Wait,” she said softly. “It will be better if
you
do not carry him into the keep.” Servants were now moving about in the bailey, and she hailed two men who ran over at once. “This poor gentleman tripped and hit his face in falling,” she said, blushing slightly as she told the lie. “You must carry him into the great hall and ask my aunt to tend him.”

Hugh relinquished his burden to the servingmen without argument. He was relieved to be rid of Lusors, for he suspected the man would have demanded satisfaction of him. Hugh would not have minded fighting Lusors; in fact, he would have been glad of an excuse to kill him, but he could not expose the true reason for the quarrel, and he knew Lusors would provide one that would cause trouble between either Sir Oliver and the king or Sir Walter and the king. Nonetheless, his rage at what he had seen and his frustration at not being able to vent that rage made him turn on Audris.

“What the devil were you doing in the mews all alone?” he snarled.

Audris looked surprised at his ferocity, but then she realized Bruno probably had not mentioned that she was mistress of the hawks of Jernaeve—as odd as that might be—so she smiled at him merrily, and said, “My unicorn. I do believe you have saved your virgin from ravishment—or attempted ravishment, at least.” She laughed aloud as angry color flooded Hugh’s face and added hurriedly, “I will explain, I promise, but do not bellow at me here. You will shock the servants, who have an unreasonable awe of me. Come, let us get horses and ride out.”

The light promise to explain and teasing tone made Hugh want to laugh, but the urge only added fuel to the flames of his temper. He felt a flash of sympathy for Lusors. If Audris had invited the man into the mews as she had just invited him to ride out with her, it was no wonder Lusors had tried to seize her. At the moment Hugh himself would not have minded seizing Audris and giving her a good shake, but she had flitted away, her light, swift step carrying her halfway to the stables, where she stopped and turned around to wait for him. He was suddenly reminded of Bruno’s loving and exasperated comment to him about Audris’s proclivity for making people laugh and then disappearing before any reprimand could be administered. But Bruno was her brother and doted on her. She cannot play such games with me, Hugh thought furiously.

“Bruno warned me about you,” he said as he came up to her and they walked on together. “How you make him laugh so that he forgets to scold you. But I am not so easy to manage. I am very stubborn and have a long memory. I will not forget that you promised to explain what you were doing in the mews.”

“But it is my place,” Audris said, gazing at him earnestly with eyes as limpid as pure water. “I bring in the hawks—most of them, anyway—and share their training with Nils, our falconer.”

Hugh stopped dead again and glared at her, not sure whether she was teasing him, until he recalled Bruno’s exclamation about her “still climbing,” and her assurances that the shepherds looked for her to be sure she had not fallen. There was good evidence that what she said was true, but it was so shocking and unusual that Hugh merely stood and stared. Growing impatient, Audris took his wrist and pulled him into the stable. She ordered the grooms to saddle her mare and Hugh’s stallion and turned back to him.

“It would not do for me to train them alone,” she went on, as if he had accused her of dereliction of duty, “for then they would be accustomed only to a woman’s voice. That would not serve the purpose, since it is mostly my uncle and those to whom he wishes to give the falcons as gifts who fly them.”

Hugh blinked, again torn between the urge to laugh and a deep, painful anger. She had answered what he had asked—but without answering the real question. He looked at Audris sidelong. “It is not usual for a woman to catch hawks or to train them,” he said, “but that still does not explain why you crept out of your chamber and into the mews at dawn. I told you I was not easy to divert from my purpose, and you promised to explain.”

“Crept
out?” Audris repeated not only the word but the emphasis Hugh had given it. Then her eyes widened and she burst out laughing anew. “You cannot think I went to meet that—that—brainless bag of vanity! Oh, Hugh, that is not proper at all. I am sure a unicorn is not supposed to have suspicions about the purity of his virgin! All wasted suspicion, too. I was not alone in the mews. Nils the falconer was there, at first. How could I dream that Lusors was mad and would attack me when I sent my man out?”

“What do you mean, ‘mad’?” Hugh’s voice was suddenly uncertain. The enormous relief he felt at Audris’s contemptuous dismissal of Lusors as a “bag of vanity” had betrayed to him the true cause of his rage.

“I had refused to speak to him, turned my back on him—what man in his right mind would take that to mean I was afraid of my uncle and desired
him
?”

At that point the grooms brought the horses, and the conversation ended. Hugh lifted Audris to her saddle, and the feel of her body in his hands made him turn his head so that she could not see his face. Then he mounted, automatically checking the long hunting knife and short bow with arrows that were part of his saddle furniture. His thoughts were very far from the action of his hands, however; they seethed with discontent. He managed to keep silent while he followed Audris out of the walled upper bailey, down the steep road, and out through the east gate of the lower wall, trying to erase from his mind the one question that still nagged at him. When they were free and riding toward the hills that rose beyond the river valley, Audris laughed aloud, and her joy woke in Hugh a fresh wash of rage.

“But why creep out at dawn?” he asked suddenly, unable to control a last surge of ugly suspicion.

“Because I wished to escape before the king woke,” Audris replied, grinning in triumph and looking back over her shoulder at the keep. “How could I be sure he would not begin anew to urge me to marry? To be at Mass with those greedy paupers and a priest so easily at hand… I could not bear to take such a chance. If I were out in the hills and none knew where to find me or how long I would stay, the king would have no cause to think of me or rethink his willingness to leave me—and Jernaeve—in my uncle’s care.”

Hugh had hardly heard more than the first sentence. With his jealousy finally gone, the knowledge that it had been fed by his own desire came alive, and he flushed with embarrassment. Unless Audris were as innocent as a baby, she must have realized why he had questioned her so sharply. No doubt kindness to her brother’s friend had kept her from telling him flatly that her affairs were none of his.

“Forgive me,” he muttered. “I had no right to ask any accounting of you.”

Audris’s grin changed to a gentler smile. “That is quite true,” she said, “and, as you know, it is not my way to suffer arrogance in strangers, but I understood. You were frightened because you thought I might be hurt. You are like Bruno in that. He, too, used to shout at me when he feared for me.”

Hugh shrugged angrily. “Perhaps.”

“Perhaps?” Audris repeated, raising her brows. “Do you think I do not know why I do a thing?”

“I do not like crumbs of kindness,” Hugh snapped. “I would prefer that you told me roundly to mind my own affairs rather than be treated gently because I am a poor squire who is your brother’s friend—and in a similar case.”

“Do not be so silly.” Audris shook her head impatiently. “I answered you because you care, not for Jernaeve and its lands, but for me, for
me,
as Bruno cares for me, Audris, separate from Jernaeve.”

“No!” Hugh exclaimed.

“No? You mean you do not care for me?” Audris asked.

“Yes, but—” Hugh stopped abruptly. “I think,” he went on stiffly, “that we had better talk of something else. Where are we riding?”

Audris’s laugh made a rippling music, but she did not explain it. Instead she asked, “Are you free to ride with me? I should have thought that you might have duties to perform.”

“No—at least, none for the morning. The boys—Sir Walter’s squires—will see to his dressing.” Then Hugh frowned. “But we will miss hearing Mass.”

“We will miss the breakfast meal, too,” Audris said, her voice redolent with regret. “Like a fool I left my bag of supplies in the mews when I ran after you.”

There was a brief pause. The casual mention of a bag of supplies had made Hugh’s stomach growl, but the additional proof that her intention had been escape rather than flirtation made Hugh unreasonably happy.

“You seem to regret the meal more than the Mass,” he remarked, trying to sound reproving but unable to keep his lightheartedness from his voice.

“I do,” she answered, chuckling. “I can listen to two Masses—or even three, if needful—anytime, but no matter how much I eat tomorrow or how many times, it will not fill my belly now.”

Hugh could not help laughing aloud, although he was faintly uneasy at her light view of what was owing to God. Still, he believed in Christ’s love and His gentleness and understanding of human frailties. It would take a devil, not a God of loving-kindness, to punish the naughty twinkle in Audris’s eyes or the way the corners of her lips curved upward. This was the mischief of an innocent, not evil.

But Audris had read the touch of uneasiness under Hugh’s laughter. She recognized from that and from what he had said that he was deeply religious, and that he had not preached at her or told her another significant fact about him. He was, Audris thought, like Father Anselm, a person whose own deep faith did not lead to demanding all others follow exactly his own observance. The knowledge that Hugh would not scold her naturally made Audris contrite and made her want him to be as happy as she was. And there was a solution near at hand. She pressed left knee and left rein against her mare, turning her south, and beckoned to Hugh to follow.

“I have just realized,” she said as he came level with her again, “that we need not lack food for either soul or body. If we ride south to Hexham abbey, we can hear Mass, and the good monks will feed us, too.” Audris’s glance sparkled with mischief again. “And since I know I never could convince you to let me ride about alone, you can send a boy to Sir Walter to tell him what has become of you.”

“You could order me to leave you,” Hugh pointed out, not sure himself whether he was teasing or testing—or, if he was testing, for what. “I have no authority over you.”

“But I do not wish you to leave me, my blue-eyed unicorn,” Audris replied. “I wish to know you better.”

It was the truth, and although Audris had been warned that knowledge is often dangerous, she did not realize just how dangerous knowing Hugh better would be until the next day, after he had left Jernaeve. The day they spent together was all joy. Never had Audris felt such freedom in any equal’s company—except for Bruno’s—and there was something different in being with Hugh. She loved Bruno, but a sense of excitement thrilled her each time she met Hugh’s luminous eyes.

At the abbey, after refreshment for soul and body had been provided, Audris offered to act as scribe for Hugh, so a fuller and more private explanation could be offered Sir Walter than could be carried verbally. This led to an exchange that made clear that both Hugh and Audris could read and write—unlikely skills for a woman or a simple squire—and to further elucidation of the youth and upbringing of each. Audris spoke because Hugh’s deep interest was a new and wonderful experience for her; for Hugh, Audris’s desire to know everything was painful as well as heartwarming, but when he had told her in plain words about his situation, Hugh felt better. He believed she had guessed from the first, but it was a sweet balm indeed to be sure she knew he had no father and little future, and did not care.

Actually, Hugh wrote his own note to Sir Walter, stating that Audris refused to return to Jernaeve and refused also to send for an escort from the keep or to remain longer in Hexham. He explained her decision in tactful terms and added that under the circumstances, he felt obliged to stay with her rather than let her wander alone. If Sir Walter left Jernaeve before he was able to return, he wrote, he would follow the king’s party as soon as he could lay down his responsibility.

“You should have written ‘burden,’” Audris teased, reading over his shoulder.

“I do not like to lie,” Hugh responded lightly, as if he were jesting, but he was grateful that his head was bent over his writing. He had promised himself that he would keep knowledge of his desire from Audris, and he was sure at that moment it showed in his face.

“How inconvenient that is,” Audris said, still teasing. “At least, I find it so. It is dreadful that I cannot tell the smallest untruth without blushing or my voice and knees trembling. It is Father Anselm’s fault.” But her tone changed on the last words, and there was affection and longing in it when she added, “It grieved him so when I did not speak the truth that the punishment for the fault I wished to hide was the lighter to bear.”

Hugh twisted around and looked up at her. “Love is a harsher whip than a flail of nine tails studded with iron points.”

“Is that true?” Audris breathed, shivering when their eyes met, as if Hugh’s words were a dire warning.

But he had already turned back to his note, and his voice was flat as he replied, “So Thurstan said when I complained his love constrained me.”

“Did you chafe at those bonds, too?” Audris asked, smiling again.