Falls the Shadow (12 page)

Simon had not meant for their lovemaking to take fire so fast. But her response was so ardent, so eager that he found himself unable to hold back. Never had he been so aware of a woman’s fragrance. It was subtle, elusive, clung to her hair, her skin; even the air seemed perfumed with a faint, flowery scent. She did not object as his caresses became bolder, more intimate, allowing him to pull the top of her bodice down, allowing him to fondle her breasts. Their kisses were hard, bruising, for there was in their desire a desperation, too, as if these fevered moments alone upon the castle battlements might be all they’d ever have.

When Simon suddenly released her, Nell was dazed, disoriented. She caught the wall for support. She felt drugged, focused with difficulty upon what he was saying. How strange his voice sounded, slurred and breathless. “No,” he said, “not like this…” She leaned toward him, uncomprehending, and he grasped her shoulders. “For God’s sake, Nell, stop. I am a man, not a saint. It will need but a few more moments for me to throw our mantles on the walkway, take you here and now, and I do not want it to be like that, not with you…”

Neither did Nell. There was nothing romantic in the image he’d just conjured up for her; the thought of such a hasty, frenzied coupling sounded sordid to her, shameful. She flushed, becoming aware of her dishevelment, and began to tug at the bodice of her gown. It frightened her now, the memory of that hot, heedless passion, and she confessed shakily, “I…I did not know…”

“It was not like that with your husband?” he said, and laughed when she mutely shook her head. “Where is your bedchamber, Nell?”

She hesitated. “Above the hall. Simon, I…”

He was not listening, had stooped to retrieve her discarded wimple and veil. “I’d be all thumbs; you’d best do this yourself. Nell, listen. We must go back to the hall. There’ll be talk if we do not.”

She nodded quickly. Yes, that was best. She needed time, time to think. She did love him…or did she? How often had she heard priests warn that lust could masquerade as love. And all knew that the Devil delighted in casting carnal snares for the unwary. She must be sure of her feelings, lest she barter salvation for a mere fever of the flesh.

“We’ll return to the hall, and in time, we’ll retire for the night—to our separate chambers. I will wait an hour, mayhap even two, till the castle sleeps. Then I’ll come to you.”

Nell did not speak, but she looked so uncertain that Simon smiled reassuringly. “It will be safe, Nell; you need not fret. None but my squires will know where I slept, and they’d never betray me.” He leaned over, kissed her on the mouth, very gently this time. His eyes shone like silver in the moonlight, shone with elation and triumph and disarming tenderness. “How I love you,” he said, and there was wonder in his voice.

Nell swallowed. “There…there is a second stairwell,” she said softly. “In the northwest corner of the keep. It leads up to my chamber.”

The candle had been notched to show the passing hours, but no matter how often Simon glanced at it, he could not will the wax to melt. He paced to the window, then back again. When he reached for a wine cup, drained it in several swallows, his squires exchanged surprised and speculative looks, for Simon was a sparing drinker.

His squires were the sons of English noblemen, learning a knight’s trade in Simon’s service. Young men of seventeen and eighteen, they were as unlike in personality as they were in appearance, united only in their shared devotion to Simon. They’d been somewhat uneasy when they first joined his household, for Simon was known to have a notoriously quick temper. But they’d soon discovered that their qualms were for naught. It was true that Simon did not suffer fools gladly. That was not unusual in a man of rank and power. What was, though, was Simon’s reluctance to direct his rages at the defenseless. And while he was a very exacting master, he was also scrupulously fair.

Baldwin and Adam were dazzled by Simon’s lethal skill with a sword, awed by how easily he handled the most unruly horse. They admired his self-assurance, his boldness, came to treasure his rare compliments. And because they were at an age in which imitation was still the purest form of flattery, they took Simon as their example in all particulars. Simon was an avid reader, rarely traveled without a book in his saddle bags; Baldwin and Adam struggled, with indifferent success, to take this peculiar pastime of Simon’s to heart. Because Simon never passed a beggar without giving a coin, his squires no longer mocked God’s unfortunates. Like Simon, they professed to be scornful of the superstitions of ignorant men, and like Simon, they honored the Grey Friars above all other orders. Simon admired the friars for their austerity and piety, said they’d not been corrupted as the monks had, by rich living and worldly concerns; his young disciples said the same. They sought to mimic Simon’s dry, sometimes caustic, wit, and they learned a difficult lesson in discretion, for Simon never boasted of his bedmates; had open contempt for men who did.

Even had they not known of Simon’s distaste for such boasting, the squires would never have dared to jest about the Countess of Pembroke. They watched their lord stride back and forth, and they could only marvel at his rash courage, while fearing for his safety. The man who seduced a King’s sister might well pay for his pleasure with his head; at the least, he could expect to forfeit the instrument of that pleasure. Even King Henry could not be indifferent to his sister’s disgrace, would have to play a man’s part should he learn of Simon’s mad folly. The boys again exchanged anxious glances, and Baldwin surreptitiously crossed himself, for all knew the lady had pledged her honor to Christ. It would, he thought with a shiver, be almost like debauching a nun.

The hall was dark; Simon could just make out the sleeping forms bedded down in the aisles. All was still. He encountered no one in the stairwell. He paused again before Nell’s chamber, but could hear no sounds anywhere. The door swung open; Nell stood framed in soft firelight. She was still dressed in her gown of red silk, but her hair was unbound, tumbling about her shoulders. Simon had seen her hair uncovered by veil or wimple, but he’d never seen it like this, falling free down her back, and he wanted suddenly to feel its bright silkiness against his skin, to wrap it around his throat.

“Your hair looks verily like spun gold,” he said, and then laughed. “I sound like every smitten lover since the world was green. Why must the language of love be so threadbare? There ought to be a way to tell you how I feel without evoking so many echoes, so many ghosts.” He laughed again for the sheer joy of this moment, the joy of being here in this bedchamber with this woman. But when he reached for a strand of her hair, Nell pulled back, moved hastily to put space between them.

“I cannot do this, Simon,” she said. “I cannot bed with you.”

Color had risen in her face, but her voice was steady; she looked not so much remorseful as defiant. “I cannot bed with you,” she repeated, and then waited, warily, for his anger.

It did not come. There were no explosions of outrage, no indignant recriminations, not even the reproaches she felt she deserved. Just utterly unnerving silence. His eyes seemed to have darkened, more slate now than silver. He made no move to approach her, but neither did he move toward the door. “What is wrong, Nell?” he said at last. “What do you fear?”

She’d braced herself for a dreadful scene, expecting him to rant, to call her all the ugly names men reserved for women who promised more than they could deliver. She realized now that she’d even wanted such a scene, wanted him to react with rage and injured pride. How much more dangerous was this quiet question of his.

“I know what some men say of me, Simon, that I am a wanton. It is true that I like to dance and flirt, that I wear silk, not homespun, and they dare to judge me for it. But they are wrong. I have held true to my oath. I have lain with no man since my husband’s death.”

“Do you really think you had to assure me of that? I know you, Nell, know full well that you’ve not violated your oath. Just as I know you were not playing a wanton’s game with me, tonight on the battlements.”

“I…I truly thought I could do it, Simon. I never meant to mislead you, I swear I did not. I’d not see you hurt for the world, for I do love you. No, Simon—do not! Please stay where you are. I do not think clearly when you are close to me,” she said, managed a weak smile. “In truth, I do not think at all!” Although she trusted in his honor, she still thought it prudent to put some tangible barriers between them, and she slowly circled around the table.

“I do not know if I can make you understand, Simon. But as I sat here, waiting for you to come to me, I suddenly knew that I could not go through with it. As much as I want you, I cannot do this. Forgive me, Simon, but the sin is just too great. If I violate my oath, I am damned, am—”

“No,” he said. “That need not be so, Nell. Do you think I would ever let you risk so much for me? I could not have you put your soul in peril; no earthly love is worth that. But there is another way. We can ask the Pope for a dispensation.”

She stared at him, first in astonishment and then in anger. “That is not worthy of you, Simon,” she said coldly. “The world is full of men who’ll babble any nonsense that comes to mind, promise the sun and moon itself to coax silly women into bedding with them. But I expected better of you! Just how would you have me word this petition to the Pope? ‘Will Your Holiness please deliver me from my oath so I might sleep with Simon de Montfort?’ ”

“Now you are the one to be talking nonsense,” he said impatiently. “You must know that I seek more from you than a quick tumble in bed. I want to marry you, Nell.”

“Marry?” she echoed faintly. She looked so stunned that he felt the first stirring of unease. He swiftly suppressed it, moved around the table and took her hands in his.

“Simon…Simon, it could never be.”

“Yes,” he said, “it could…and it will. Nell, listen to me. That day at Chester, you asked me what we could do…remember? In these past four months, I’ve thought of little else. We cannot bed together on the sly. But neither can I walk away from you. There is but one answer for us, Nell. We must seek a dispensation from the Pope, one that would free you from your vow, free us to wed.”

“Marriage,” Nell whispered, and for a brief moment she dared to dream it might be so, dared to envision herself as Simon’s wife, able to bear his name, his children. But then her shoulders slumped. “That was cruel of you, Simon,” she said dully, “cruel to give me such false hope. We could never wed. Even if the Pope could be persuaded to release me from my vow, that would mean only that I was free to wed again, not free to wed you.”

Simon frowned. “Am I so unworthy a choice?”

“No, beloved, of course you are not. But I am the King’s sister, and mine must be a marriage of state. Henry and his council would pick a husband for me, a husband of their choosing, not mine. Just as they did with my older sisters, so would they do with me. I would have to make a marriage for England’s weal.”

“I am Earl of Leicester and steward of England,” Simon said stiffly. “My brother is Constable of France and Count of Montfort. My lady mother was a Montmorency. I need apologize to no man for my bloodlines, for my House is one of France’s oldest and proudest.”

“I know, beloved, I do,” Nell said wretchedly. “But Simon, you are not a prince, and they would expect no less for me.”

“They? Or you? I think I begin to see. It was not the vow at all. You do not think I am good enough for you.”

“Ah, Simon, no…” Nell knew him too well now; she could see beyond his anger and pride, see how she’d hurt him. And she could not bear it. As he turned away from her, toward the door, she cried, “Do not go! I do love you, Simon, and I will marry you. Let Henry be damned, let them all be damned, I will marry you!”

Simon’s hand froze on the door latch. He swung about, his eyes searching Nell’s face. He found what he sought, and moved swiftly to her side. “Say it again,” he said, and Nell smiled.

“I love you, Simon. I would be very proud to be your wife.”

They looked at each other, and then Simon reached out, stroked her hair. When he touched her cheek, she closed her eyes, marveling that the same hand that so easily wielded a sword could be so very gentle, too. He slid his fingers under her chin, tilted her face up to his. The first kiss was soft, tender. The second one was not, for it took as little as that for the passion to flare between them again.

Simon wrapped her hair around his hand, burned kisses along her throat, and when he fumbled with the lacings of her gown, Nell’s fingers were no less clumsy, no less impatient. The world beyond that bedroom door was forgotten; so, too, was the gold ring on Nell’s left hand, the ring that symbolized her vow. It was as it had been on the battlements, but now they were all alone in a firelit chamber. Nothing was said; there was no longer a need for words between them. They helped each other undress, scattered their discarded clothes across the floor on their way to the bed. And then they were entwined together under Nell’s linen sheets, and her last coherent thought was one so blasphemous she would later recall it with a shiver: that even if this was indeed a mortal sin, she could never repent of it.

The regrets were to be Simon’s. After their lovemaking, he had rolled over, drawing Nell close and cradling her head in the crook of his shoulder. He could not convince himself that they had sinned; already, he thought of Nell as his wife. But still he knew they should have waited, for it was Nell who’d risked damnation.

He leaned over, kissed the pulse in her throat. She did not open her eyes, but the corner of her mouth curved, and he was swept by tenderness, a new and somewhat unsettling emotion for him. Nell was more than he’d ever dared to hope for, a woman beautiful and highborn and wealthy, a woman spirited and playful and passionate. But if she was indeed a remarkable gift from God, she was also a great responsibility. He was not easily frightened, but it frightened him now to think of Nell being hurt, and it frightened him to think of losing her. He let his fingers wander along the silken skin of her shoulder, stray into the tousled blonde hair. Was she having second thoughts? Could he blame her if so? He was only asking her to confront the Pope and defy the King, no more than that.