A Tapestry of Dreams (34 page)

Audris could not be certain that Stephen would favor Hugh’s petition, but she knew her uncle had a reputation of regarding his own interests before those of any king. In any case, Hugh’s assertion that Audris now did wish to marry and that her uncle was forbidding her her natural right would cause trouble. And if she were summoned and the question put to her whether she wished to be married… Audris shuddered. No matter what she said, she would be doing mortal hurt either to the man she desired or to the man who had given her her life.

Somehow she must explain to Hugh that he must not ask for her. But the thought of the pain she would cause him—and before a desperate battle… Audris looked up at the last panel of her work.
Only
a mirror of her fear? But the fear had a real cause. Again she read the portion of Hugh’s letter that dealt with the trial by combat. For the first time she realized how soon the battle would be and realized, too, that Lord Ruthsson had not been able to obtain a champion to fight for him. Hugh might die—or even if he were not killed in the battle, he might be sore wounded and die from lack of good care. For once no pictures formed in Audris’s mind. The thoughts came as words, and there was a frightening sense of a black and empty place somewhere behind her eyes. And then that place slowly filled with an image of Morel riding away, but not alone. Behind him Audris saw herself on her own mare and Fritha on her mule.

Audris drew a deep breath and smiled. She would go to Morpeth! How simple a solution to her immediate problems; she could be with Hugh before the battle so that if the very worst came to pass, at least she could have added a few precious hours of joy to her memories—and she could have tried again to conceive his child. If he were wounded, she would be there to attend him. And, in the best case, where Hugh conquered without hurt to himself, she could explain why he must not ask for her in marriage.

Arguments began to form in Audris’s mind, but then she shook her head. There would be time enough to consider what she would say to Hugh when she was with him. First she must get to Morpeth. Leaving Jernaeve would be no trouble. Though she did not often travel far, she did occasionally go to Durham or some other market town to buy special yarn for her weaving or fine fabrics for her gowns. Moreover, this was a good time to say she wished to go, for it was in winter that she spent most time at her loom, and just now, she hoped, her uncle would be too busy to offer to accompany her himself.

That hope was fulfilled. After Oliver had come in from one of the southerly farms, where he had been overseeing the culling of cattle, and settled by the fire in the hall, Audris brought down the harvest tapestry. Oliver was delighted. This was the kind of work a merchant would trade for gladly, and Audris had produced it at just the right time. Jernaeve needed salt, and in the light of the news Bruno had sent, sword blades and metal ingots for new war-machine parts and arrowheads would not come amiss. Oliver had thought he would need to pay in silver because, with the threat of the Scots war, he could not barter away surplus grain or meat—if Jernaeve were besieged, they would need the food themselves—but now the woven picture would pay for all.

“You are a good girl, Audris,” Oliver said. “It is a pretty piece. I will send word to the merchant—”

“I will carry your message myself, uncle,” Audris interrupted. “I need new yarns and especially strong linen for my warp, and this is an idle time for me.” She thought of the young hawks she should be training and blushed, but did not take back what she had said.

Oliver frowned, and Audris’s heart leapt into her throat. If her uncle forbade her, what would she do? She could go anyway, of course, but she knew Oliver would scour the countryside for her, and there would certainly be men who knew her at Morpeth to send word back to Jernaeve.

“You wish to go now?” Oliver was not actually asking, Audris realized. The question was part of his process of thought. “I cannot go with you now,” he added.

“I know that, uncle,” Audris assured him. “But the weather is fine in this season, and it will be pleasant to visit the different mercers and give me something to do while you and Aunt Eadyth are so busy. With the extra work that the preparation for war gives you, it will be winter, I fear, before you can spare time for me.”

Oliver nodded, although his frown did not clear. What Audris said was true enough. When the harvest was in and stored and the meat salted and smoked, he would turn to building new engines to defend the walls and to increasing their stocks of arms. “Where do you wish to go?” he asked.

Audris blushed again, and her voice shook slightly as she said, “To Newcastle first, uncle. But if I cannot find what I want, I might go farther.”

The frown grew in intensity on Oliver’s face. His first impulse when he heard the uncertainty in her voice and saw her blush was to say he would send Eadyth with her if she was afraid to go alone. But he could not spare Eadyth to go with the child now, and then it occurred to him that Audris was
not
a child. Women were not good for much, it was true, but Eadyth had borne several children and managed a keep when she was much younger than Audris. If he and Eadyth should be swept away by a plague, what would Audris do? Oliver wondered if perhaps he had oversheltered Audris. It would be best for her to go alone. She would be close enough in Newcastle, or even in Durham, for him to ride over in a few hours and disentangle her from any difficulty. She was shrewd enough in trading, he knew, and could be trusted not to give more than true worth for anything she acquired.

“Very well,” Oliver said. “I will send five men with you, and if any trouble should arise, you can send for me, and I will come. You have nothing to fear, Audris, there is no need to weep.”

“I am not afraid,” she replied, which was the truth since the tears were of relief and, a little, of gratitude mixed with irritation. Oliver’s voice was harsh and his words brusque, but Audris was beginning to realize that it was not only as a symbol of Jernaeve that she was dear to him. It was a most unwelcome perception, binding her even more straitly to her decision that her love for Hugh must not be allowed to hurt her uncle.

“Good girl,” Oliver approved. He did not believe her denial, but he knew that true courage was the art of mastering fear; not to feel fear was only foolhardiness. “And when do you want to go?”

“Tomorrow. No. I will need time to make ready. The day after tomorrow.”

“Make ready what?” Oliver asked.

“Sheets for my bed, a clean pillow or two, and suchlike,” Audris replied. “I would not care to sleep in someone else’s dirt.”

Her voice was steadier; she was finding less difficulty in bringing out the half-truths, comforting herself with the belief that she was doing no one harm by speaking them. And she was not lying. She did intend to bring sheets and pillows as well as the extra clothing and salves and other medications that the bed linens would be used to hide.

Oliver
tchk’d
with indulgent amusement and laughed at her for becoming a fine lady, and Audris protested indignantly that her aunt always carried their own bed linens whenever they traveled, at which Oliver shook his head—for he had never noticed. But he soon tired of the subject and asked about the hawks. Leaning back out of the light so that Oliver should not see her unease, Audris said that the falconer had them well in hand.

“He will be glad to see me go,” Audris said—again speaking the truth. “He wishes to give his boys more to do, but they are so afraid of me that they can do nothing right while I am in the mews.”

Oliver frowned again because he did not like to be reminded of the awe in which the common folk held Audris, but he said nothing about that, turning the talk to a more general discussion of the hawks in the mews. Then Eadyth came in from the cheese shed, and Oliver abandoned Audris to discuss some matters of storage with his wife, so Audris felt free to slip away. She went first to the mews to tell the falconer that she would not be back to help with the hawks. Then she visited the shed where the herbs were dried and the stillroom, collecting what she felt she might need, though she prayed she would need nothing.

Audris’s plan was already clear in her mind. She would send Morel back to Hugh the next day with the information that she was coming to be with him at Morpeth and that she would be at Newcastle for a day or two if he had important word for her. The day after, she would go to Newcastle. On the third day she would tell the merchant who most often took her work that a tapestry was ready and buy warp thread, which she did need, as well as any yarn that she found to be suitable for her work.

Most likely news of the tourney at Morpeth would be related to her at one merchant’s stall or another, since some would be going there themselves. The concourse of people brought together for a tourney provided customers, and the mood of excitement made them ripe for buying. In any case, Audris thought, she could say the merchants told her. Then, the morning of the fifth day, she would start out for Morpeth. If the men-at-arms refused to take her without warning her uncle, she would send a man back to Jernaeve. Otherwise, she would stretch the time out until the tourney began before sending word of where she was. She did not think her uncle would mind; Oliver might be surprised, but he was used to what he called Audris’s fits and starts and probably would accept her desire to see the tourney as natural.

Not only did Audris’s plans run smoothly, but Morel found Audris’s party in Newcastle on the evening of the day she had spent with various merchants. Hugh had sent Morel, with a short note full of incredulous joy about the possibility of her coming, a hint that all was not so perfect as his last letter implied, and a warning that he might be a day or two behind her in coming to Morpeth. Morel was also instructed to guide Audris’s party and to settle them into Uhtred’s house, where Lord Ruthsson had arranged lodging.

Audris had further reason to be glad she had chosen Morel to be Hugh’s servant, for he was no fool; he had long since guessed that the affair between his master and the Demoiselle was a secret. He made no judgment; the lords did not live as commoners did, and in any case the Demoiselle was a law unto herself—to Morel’s mind she was above and beyond any ordinary rule. Thus, to the men-at-arms, some of whom he knew from past service, he pretended that he had come to Newcastle on his master’s business. Having found them “by accident,” he asked to speak to the Demoiselle to beg lodging for the night with his friends.

Audris greeted him with glee, not only for the sake of Hugh’s note but because he provided an easy way to introduce the subject of the tourney to her men. Between them, they prepared a plan that would account for Morel’s accompanying them to Morpeth and almost ensure that none of the men would protest against going. Returning to the men, Morel spoke with great enthusiasm of the tournament to be held, whetting their appetites for a spectacle they seldom were allowed to enjoy because Sir Oliver rarely attended such events. Thus, when Audris sent for the captain of the small troop and said various merchants had mentioned the tourney to her and she wished to see it, there was no protest against going without warning Sir Oliver. The captain had been ordered to accompany and protect Audris; he had not been told where to take her.

When Morel returned to Ruthsson with the news that Audris intended to come to Morpeth, Hugh could scarcely believe his good fortune. Not only did he long to see her and crave her physically, but he had some explanations to make that would be much, much easier to say than to write. She would be less angry, he thought, about the false hopes he had raised when she saw the grief they caused him. By the evening of the day he sent Morel off with his letter to Audris, he had regretted writing it. His regret had nothing to do with what he had told her about the trial by combat—it had not yet occurred to him that Audris might regard a battle to the death with less enthusiasm than he did. What worried Hugh was the strong impression he remembered giving that he would come directly from his victory in battle to propose himself as a husband for her.

A day of riding around Ruthsson had driven home the truth of his uncle’s remark that he would be heir to “nothing.” Having seen the condition of the people and property, Hugh realized that he could not suggest bringing Audris to Ruthsson to live. She might not mind the lack of some of the luxuries she had in Jernaeve, but it would not be right to inflict on her the active discomfort of life in Ruthsson. Moreover, from what he knew of Audris, she was not fit to pick up the burden of rebuilding what was the woman’s share of a manor’s workings. Hugh wished for no change in Audris; she was perfect as she was, an inestimable asset. Her work—the tapestries and the hawks—was worth more than a knowledge of baking and brewing, but she herself would be deprived if someone did not do the lesser tasks.

Thus, despite his eagerness, Hugh’s step was heavy and slow as he mounted the stairs to the solar of Uhtred’s house on the afternoon of All Hallows Eve, and though he caught the slight figure that flew into his arms and held her close, he did not smile.

“Oh, God! Oh, God!” Audris cried, beginning to cry. “You have learned you will be overmatched in this combat. Do not fight, Hugh. Let me take your uncle back to Jernaeve. I will—”

“Overmatched?” Hugh echoed. He had been about to protest against Fritha’s slipping out of the room as he entered it, since he thought it unwise that Uhtred should know he was alone with Audris, but indignation momentarily replaced all other emotions. “I am not overmatched! Who told you such a thing? Whatever are you crying about, Audris?”

“No one told me. I fear for you,” she sobbed.

“You will make your nose all pink again,” he warned, laughing now. “I have told you more than once that you are a goose. What do you know of combat?”

“Very little,” Audris admitted, sniffing and blinking the tears from her eyes as she allowed Hugh to lead her toward the bench by the side of the hearth. “But I have seen war, Hugh. Jernaeve has been attacked more than once, and my uncle has gone out many, many times to drive away outlaws and raiders. I have mended the wounds—and been unable to mend them and watched men die.”

“Wounds you may need to mend,” Hugh said, “and if so, I will be glad of your skill, but you will not need to watch me die. Now listen, Audris. I do not tell you when or how to weave; that is your skill. Do not tell me when or how to fight; that is my skill.”

“One is not likely to be hurt or killed while weaving,” Audris replied sharply.

Hugh laughed. “I chose the wrong skill. Let me say instead that I do not tell you when and how to climb for hawks.”

“But you
did
tell me,” Audris protested. “You argued and protested and called me wild and mad—”

“But you climbed the cliff anyway,” Hugh pointed out, his brilliant eyes sparkling with amusement. “So now we are even. You have protested my desire to fight—and I have listened to you no more than you listened to me.”

Audris sat silent for a moment, examining his face. She could see that Hugh was speaking the truth about the coming battle—at least, as much of the truth as he could possibly know, for he was describing his own confidence. She had an impulse to offer to give up her climbing if he would give up this battle, but for once thought preceded speech. Partly she held her tongue because she suspected the offer would be useless, but there were other, more compelling reasons for Audris’s silence. She realized how much her own spirit would chafe under the restriction of keeping her promise once her immediate fear was over. So much more would Hugh suffer self-hatred if by any chance she could force him to go back on his word to fight for Ruthsson. Her desire for Hugh did not give her the right to destroy him. Nor did the suffering his death would cause her excuse inflicting suffering on him.

The decision made, Audris’s nature shied away from the anticipation of pain. She was here in Hugh’s arms and would not be so silly as to lose her present joy through grieving over a horror that might never happen. But then she remembered Hugh’s unhappy expression, and she said, “But if you are so certain of your battle, why did you look so sad when you came in?”

“Because I fear it will not be possible for me to claim you so soon as I first thought,” he replied, relaxing his grip on her so he would not seem to restrain her if she was angry. “Ruthsson is nearly a ruin. I cannot bring you there until I have improved the land at least enough to feed and clothe you.”

Audris pulled away from him in surprise, staring wide-eyed, unable to believe that all her worries had been for nothing.

“Dear heart, do not be angry,” Hugh begged, touching her cheek gently. “It is not that I want you less, but that I cannot bear that you should suffer the poor life that would be all I could offer you.”

“I am not angry, dearling,” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck. “And I would not care how hard the life, but my uncle—” Audris stopped abruptly, cursing the tongue that always wagged before thought caught up with it.

But Hugh had not taken offense; indeed, he was nodding agreement. “Sir Oliver would not hear of such a marriage, and I would think less of him if he would agree to it.” He leaned forward to kiss her and, when their lips parted, sighed. “He is right, but that does not make it easier to bear. I want you, Audris.”

“And I am here,” she said, reaching up to undo the fastening of his mail hood.

There was a great joy and a great wonder in Audris. Before she had known Hugh, she had not truly realized what she was capable of doing. It simply had not occurred to her that there was no need to wait passively for events to take place. A small smile just barely turned up the corners of her lips. In the spring, because of her driving need to be with Hugh, she had instinctively set into her uncle’s mind the notion of letting her entertain his guest. That her uncle had his own reasons for yielding so quickly did not matter; Audris knew she would have managed to get Hugh to escort her even if Oliver had resisted. And this time she had been driven to devise this plan to come to Morpeth because she feared a conflict between Hugh and her uncle. Her fears were unnecessary, but she had learned a most interesting lesson: when the need was great, she could take action on her own.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Hugh uttering a soft groan and catching her to him for a hard kiss, which he broke as abruptly as he had initiated it. “You are here, and that is nearly a miracle—but it is not what I meant, Audris. I want you for always.”

Audris dropped her eyes. “Come,” she said softly, “take off your armor and let us rejoice in being together. It is wrong, I think, to spoil present happiness with dark thoughts. I cannot remember now where I read it, but in some ancient work there was the line, ‘While we live, let us live,’ and I think it an excellent precept.”

She stood up, holding out an inviting hand, and Hugh took it, but he did not rise. He turned the hand so he could kiss the palm and then the wrist. Audris sighed and stroked his hair, but held him off when he began to pull her toward him.

“Take off your armor,” she insisted. “I do not want to have chain-shaped bruises all over me.”

He shook his head. “Uhtred saw me come up. I must not stay long. Fritha should not have gone out.”

“Uhtred will not know Fritha is not here,” Audris replied, and began to lift her gown in preparation to pulling it off. “I am not a fool. She is just outside the door to warn us if someone comes.”

Hugh bit his lips and shifted on the bench as heat rose in his loins and the swelling of his shaft moved its sensitive head against the rough wool of his chausses. “What good will a warning do if we are rolling around on the floor naked?” he muttered, his words somewhat obscured by his need to swallow as Audris let her gown go and frowned thoughtfully.

“You are right about that,” she said. “I gave my men leave to go about the town, but they are too faithful, and one or two stay always below, either in the shop or in the shed where they are sleeping.”

“No one was in the shop except Uhtred,” Hugh said, getting carefully to his feet. “But—”

“Oh, good!” Audris exclaimed, her eyes alight with a demonic mixture of laughter and desire. “Then I need not be cheated of my first sup of you.”

“What?”

Audris did not answer in words, but bent swiftly and grasped Hugh’s arming tunic, lifting the garment so that the front split of his hauberk folded back, away from his thighs. He gasped with surprise as she levered the tunic up until she could pull open the tie of his chausses and bare his lower body.

“Sit!” she ordered, choking with laughter over his stunned expression as she pushed him backward toward the bench. “No, silly, astride. Sit astride.”

Astonished as he had been by Audris’s action, Hugh understood quickly enough what she intended. A spike of conscience told him he should be more sensible, that he should curb Audris’s wild, heedless mischief—for he felt it was as much mischief as desire that had given her this notion. But the thin thread of good sense attached to the spike of conscience was poor mooring against the huge wave of erotic impulse that swept him back onto the bench, and it frayed to nothingness as, lifting her skirts, Audris came astride him and took the tip of his straining shaft between her nether lips.

Hugh tried to heave upward, but could hardly move, and Audris was laughing, her hair coming undone, her skin glowing from within, her eyes closing as she lost herself in sensual sensation. The position was horribly awkward; the bunched clothing between them prevented them from coming together completely. Still, Hugh found that the frustration only added to his excitement, as did his helplessness to remedy the situation. Not only could he not lift upward to impale Audris more firmly, but he could not pull her down onto him either, because he had to lean back and support himself with his arms behind him to make union possible at all.

What constrained Hugh freed Audris. She was not certain why her hunger for Hugh was so intense this day that she could not forgo coupling for the few hours until night. She always enjoyed their lovemaking, but this time she did not need to be aroused; she could barely wait to take him into her, without kisses or touches. She had started the love play in fun, but once begun, she had to have him.

Still, remnants of the pure mischief that had made her lift Hugh’s tunic mingled with a thrill at being the aggressor and burst out in laughter and playfulness. She giggled and squirmed, never leaving Hugh, but not trying to engulf him or establish a rhythm either. The irregular motion was building her excitement higher and higher, and when she heard Hugh gasp, “Audris, stop!” it was too late. She thrust herself down on him as far as she could, shaking and sobbing in fulfillment.

Hugh’s protest had come too late for him, too. The edge frustration had lent to the physical sensations generated by Audris’s play had built Hugh’s passion even faster than the normal movements of coupling. He had tried to free one arm to hold her still for a moment to give him a chance to control the explosion building within him, but he almost fell off the bench and could not grasp her. By then he was too swamped by the oncoming waves of his climax to realize he could lie down and free his arms. It was only in the actual convulsion of orgasm, as his weakened arms gave way under him, that he fell slowly backward and came to rest.

There was a brief silence while both caught their breath, as the roaring of blood in their ears diminished until the snapping and hissing of the flames in the hearth became audible. Then Audris began to laugh again, and Hugh put a hand behind him and levered himself upright. Audris put her arms around his neck, but he seized her by the waist, lifted her off him, and shook her.

“I am not honeyed wine to be picked up and sipped and put down again as you please,” he growled. “Your ‘first sup’ of me! Audris, are you not ashamed?”

“No,” she said defiantly, eyes alight, and still laughing as she shook her skirts into order. “Are you ashamed of your desire for me?”

He looked at her helplessly while he pulled up and tied his chausses. He had been shocked by the violence of his response, which he felt must be sinful lust, but the sense of wrongdoing dissipated before Audris’s merriment and delight. Her pleasure was so open, so free of the darkness of hidden evil, there could be no wrong in it.

“No, of course I am not ashamed of wanting you, but—” A vivid image of his initial astonishment not only at what Audris had done but at her remark about the “first sup” of him made his lips twitch. But he could not allow her to escape totally unscathed for her naughtiness, so he pulled his mouth down into an expression of severity and said, “There must be a modicum of decorum between a married pair, Audris. It is nowise proper to be—to be…” And then, as an expression of utter consternation appeared on Audris’s face, he bit his lip hard.

“You do not mean it, do you?” she asked. “When we are married by a priest, you will not always insist on—on plain fare?”

Hugh burst into laughter. “Will you stop talking of me as if I were part of your dinner? Plain fare! Do you take me for a boiled cod?”

“No, indeed!” Audris cried, smiling brilliantly as her joy bubbled up in relief. “You are a sweet subtlety—honeyed violets for eyes, whipped cream skin, and sweet, ripe strawberries for hair. I could eat you whole.”

“You are mad!” Hugh exclaimed, laughing harder. He knew that by common judgment he was ugly, and here was Audris, using for him the terms in which a man spoke of a beautiful woman.