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  “You have no need of an Arthur now, and I no want of a Guinevere. Theirs was an illfated alliance, after all, but ours will stand to the end of time and beyond.”

  Despite her happiness, which was complete, Gloriana felt a brief chill of apprehension. “Please do not speak so, my lord,” she said, with a little shiver. “You mustn’t tempt Fate to belie your words.”

  Kenbrook leaned forward on the stair, his hand still clasping hers, and kissed her lightly. It was a portent, that brief meeting of mouths, of past pleasures to be known again.

  “As you wish, milady,” Dane said, and drew her on into the bowels of the castle, where she and Edward had never dared to venture even on their boldest quests. The vast chambers, though dank, were not completely in darkness, for light entered from narrow windows beneath the heavy beams supporting the ceiling.

  Gloriana caught a whiff of sulfur and heard the vague, lapping chatter of water.

  “So, Guinevere,” Dane teased, hauling his tunic off over his head. “Arthur did not bring you here. I am pleased.”

  “What—?” Gloriana faltered in her amazement and stood staring about her.

  “They were fond of cleanliness, the Romans, among other things,” Dane explained, shedding his trunks, too, and then his leggings.

  Gloriana clutched her brown woolen kirtle closed at the front, although it had not been unlaced, and peered after Kenbrook into the shifting of light and shadow.

  The peculiar quality of the light struck her then; it danced and shimmered, as if reflected off water.

  “This is a Roman bath?” she asked, hardly able to believe in the survival of something so ancient.

  “Yes,” Dane called from further on, his voice echoing in the vast chambers. “There’s a spring—no doubt that’s one of the reasons the Legions chose this site for a fortress.”

  Gloriana followed his voice and the sound of bubbling and splashing, until she came to a vast, square pool, surrounded by statues in various states of ruin. Broken tiles, still bearing traces of paint, edged the bath.

  “How could it have survived?” Gloriana marveled, pulling off her kirtle and the chemise beneath it, setting them distractedly aside.

  “The spring renews itself,” Dane said, holding out an arm glistening with water, “and the Romans built all their edifices, particularly those designed for pleasure, to withstand the centuries. Be careful how you proceed. There are cracks, of course, and the moss makes it slippery.”

  Steam rose from the bubbling pool, along with the inevitable spoiled-egg smell.

  Gloriana made her way toward Dane, cautiously eager and ever practical. “How does it drain?”

  Kenbrook rested his hands on her shoulders. The hot, churning water felt wonderful, gently pummeling the muscles of her thighs and buttocks, chest and stomach, easing away the last lingering aches from their lovemaking and soothing the tender places. “There is a conduit system, leading down to the lake,” Dane said, his words tingling against the flesh of Gloriana’s mouth. It was plain his mind was not on the engineering feats of the Romans.

  As he bent his head and kissed her with hungry fervor, Gloriana closed bold fingers around his manhood. A sense of magnificent power filled her, exulted her, as Dane’s responding moan rolled over her tongue.

  There were no further preliminaries. With a single, powerful motion of his arms, Dane lifted Gloriana out of the water and set her squarely upon his staff, feasting greedily at her breasts as he slid her downward, with excruciating slowness, until she had sheathed him to the hilt.

  Instinctively, Gloriana wrapped her legs around his hips and tilted her head back, already convulsing around him in a silent and violent rhythm, the legacy of Eve.

  Kenbrook took longer, but when at last he found his ease, his shout of triumph echoed throughout the shadowy chamber.

  Gloriana sagged against Kenbrook, her arms around his neck, her legs encircling his pelvis, her head resting on his shoulder. They were still joined as he carried her to the shallow stone steps at the far side of the pool, laid her there, and washed her as tenderly as if she were a goddess lately rumbled from Mt. Olympus and still stunned from the fall.

  When the bath had ended, they lay still on steps with edges worn smooth by time, sated and silent, entwined in each other’s arms while the warm water lapped around them.

  Gloriana dozed, awakened, and dozed again. She could not remember knowing such contentment at any time in her life and might have lain there on those steps until the keep fell to rubble if Kenbrook hadn’t made her get up and put on her clothes.

  Horses and men were waiting in the courtyard when they again reached the center hall, with its high, slitlike windows and grim fire pits. Apparently untroubled by the fact that his clothes were clinging to his skin and water still glistened in his hair and on his face and neck, Kenbrook went out to meet them.

  Gloriana followed, moments later, after trying in vain to make herself appear dry and unruffled. She feared that the pleasure of her deflowering showed plainly in her face, for the lingering effects burned like a winter flame within her, and she would have hidden until the men went away if the idea hadn’t offended her pride. For all that the castle was little more than a ruin, she was the mistress of Kenbrook Hall, and it was her right as well as her duty to take her place at Dane’s side.

  When she went out, she recognized the red-haired Welshman, though the twenty-odd others were still strangers to her.

  Maxen nodded respectfully. “Milady,” he said. She inclined her head in response, but did not speak.

  Kenbrook turned to smile down at Gloriana, and she could see that he was pleased. His words further confirmed the fact. “My men have come to take up residence at Kenbrook Hall with us,” he said.

  Like any hostess, Gloriana was wondering, rather frantically, what she would feed these men and where they would sleep, but in her own way she was as happy as Dane. They were his men-at-arms, and it was right that they should serve him, however decrepit his holdings.

  “Find places for your horses,” Dane said, “and come in. My wife and I bid you welcome.”

  While the score of soldiers were setting up household in their own quarters, which were, like the stables, on the far side of the broad courtyard, a caravan of carts appeared on the narrow, winding road leading past the abbey and on to Kenbrook Hall. Gloriana knew they were bringing supplies and servants, and was so pleased that she flung herself into Dane’s arms and kissed him soundly before running off to meet the new arrivals.

  Judith, walking beside one of the overburdened carts, greeted her with a broad smile. “There you are, milady,” she said. “Has he kept you well, the master of Kenbrook Hall?”

  Gloriana blushed to recall just how well Kenbrook had “kept” her. “I am fit,” she said. “What is all this?”

  “Gifts from Lord Hadleigh, milady. And, of course, your own possessions too.” The young woman raised her eyes to the hall and gave a slight but eloquent shudder. “The others and me, we’ll be sleeping in a pile like kittens, of a night,” she confided. “ ’Tis a fearsome place, this, full of wailing ghosts.”

  “Nonsense,” Gloriana said. The blame for any “wailing” heard in Kenbrook Hall could not be placed on spirits, she thought wantonly. It was a private observation, of course, and she did not speak of it aloud.

  The carts clattered over the courtyard and were unloaded by servants and soldiers, who carried the contents into the castle under Gloriana’s direction. Dane, in the meantime, was closeted away somewhere with Maxen, no doubt making plans for the restoration of Kenbrook Hall.

  Gloriana had a few plans of her own, and gold to carry them out, but she would speak to her husband later, when they were alone.

  By evening, Judith and her dedicated band of helpers had swept the main hall clean of cobwebs and other debris and scattered rushes over the floor. A cooking fire blazed outside the room that would eventually serve as a kitchen, and whole suckling pigs roasted over them, on spits.

 
Messengers went on horseback to Hadleigh Castle and to the abbey, and by twilight the invited guests were arriving.

  Gareth came, and Lady Hadleigh was with him. Edward rode a little distance behind, looking proud and able on his war horse. Mariette, with Fabrienne, trundled along beside him in a cart driven by one of the grooms.

  Gloriana braced herself, there in the now-busy courtyard with its flickering torches, for acrimony. She hoped she would not lose Mariette for a friend, but at the same time she felt no remorse for having won back her husband.

  Mariette greeted her with a dazzling smile, to her surprise, bounding out of the back of the straw-filled cart and flinging herself into Gloriana’s embrace.

  “You are happy!” crowed the girl, in French. “I can see this, for your eyes smile, as well as your mouth.”

  Gloriana laughed, partly in relief, partly in joy, and hugged her friend. “You have forgiven me, then?”

  Mariette’s lower lip jutted out prettily. “Ah,” she said, switching to English. “In these matters of the heart, you have been treacherous.” Another dazzling smile lit her face. “I will forgive you, however, because I am noble.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Gloriana saw Edward dismount and hold out the reins of his horse to his squire, a boy of seven or eight, who scrambled down off the beast’s back to take them. Poor Odin, the duncolored gelding, had been retired and replaced by this stallion Gareth had provided.

  Edward’s handsome face was somber and seemed gaunt somehow as he regarded Gloriana in silence. She wanted to weep for him, her Arthur, who had laid his sword so chivalrously at her feet in the chapel the day of his dubbing. While she had never asked for his love, it had wounded her to reject him.

  Before Gloriana could speak to him, Dane appeared at her side. He put an arm around her briefly, while nodding at Edward. Then, turning to Mariette, he asked leave to speak with her in private.

  Gloriana lingered when Dane and Mariette had gone to stand a little apart. She did not watch them, but focused her attention on Edward instead.

  “I am told you have an admirer in the mademoiselle,” she said.

  Edward did not smile or even glance in Mariette’s direction. “Mariette admires all men—in theory, at least. I think she would find the singular realities less appealing. I trust Kenbrook means to ship her back to France?”

  Gloriana nodded, studying Kenbrook and Mariette for a moment as they sat talking on the rim of a dry fountain. Their words were inaudible, and as Gloriana watched them, she felt another chill and thought again of the unseen, overlapping worlds, one imposed upon another.

  Let me stay, she prayed silently. Please let me stay here, at Kenbrook Hall, forever and ever, with my husband.

  Chapter 10

  There was much feasting in the great chamber and courtyard of Kenbrook Hall, and the night was filled with torchlight and minstrels’ music. While Dane laughed with Gareth and half a dozen other men, all of them ranged round one of the fire pits in the keep’s main chamber, Gloriana stood next to Elaina, near an inner doorway Arms linked, heads close together, they spoke in soft but not secretive voices.

  “It is wonderful to see this old place coming to life,” Elaina said with a smile. There was a new fragility in her, something that weighed upon her spirit. Conversely, her beautiful face had a translucent quality, as though she saw some vision veiled to all others, “Oh, they are splendid, Gloriana, your strong, fairminded sons and your daughters, who so wisely rule the hearts of their husbands.”

  Gloriana was glad no one else was close enough to hear, for Elaina’s remarks were dangerous ones in so superstitious a society. “Do you see them?” Lady Kenbrook asked, very quietly. “My children?”

  It did seem that Elaina was watching some grand spectacle, full of color and movement, for her eyes widened and sparkled. Lady Hadleigh, whether despite her madness or because of it, very often saw the future plainly. Much hardship had been averted through the years because of her warnings to Gareth that one crop would be blighted or that a coming winter would be unusually bitter.

  “Yes,” Elaina said, blinking, as if the scene were fading. She turned, tightening her fingers on Gloriana’s arm until they felt like the talons of a falcon. “I saw them.”

  Gloriana felt a tremulous fear at the stark changes in Elaina’s aspect. “What is it?” she whispered, afraid of the answer.

  “You must suffer greatly, to be fitted for your destiny,” Elaina said, “and so must Dane. But if you falter or fail, Gloriana, if you do not endure and press on in the face of every trial, your children will never be born, never play their vital roles in weaving the future.”

  Gloriana glanced nervously about and, seeing a small cluster of servant women perhaps a dozen feet away in the shadows of one of the great stone pillars supporting the ceiling, pulled the agitated Elaina away. They slipped out a side passage and found themselves in a moon-washed garden, overlooking Kenbrook Hall’s ancient churchyard.

  Roman officers slumbered beneath the oldest stones, with their wives and children, and generations of Dane’s family were interred there as well. The keep and its lands had come to him through his mother, Aurelia, who rested in an elaborate crypt guarded by marble angels.

  “You must tell me what to do,” Gloriana pleaded, holding both of Elaina’s hands. “I fear being taken away from Dane—”

  “You will be separated,” Elaina said flatly, firmly. “Then, one day, you will come to a crossroads. Your mind will want to turn one way, your heart, the other. In most cases, a wise woman would take the former course, but you, Gloriana, must have the courage and faith to pursue the second. Yours is the heart of a lioness, and it will lead you aright if you trust it.”

  Gloriana sagged onto a stone bench erected in antiquity, and battled tears. “I do not wish to leave Dane—I cannot bear being parted from him! We’ve been apart too long as it is—”

  “It is the only way,” Elaina said in more gentle tones. “Now, Gloriana—go in and attend to your guests. Welcome your husband warmly to your bed, and keep your own counsel about all the future holds. Dane has battles of his own to fight, and knowing that your time together is short will only weaken him.”

  “Why?” Gloriana asked, in an agony of sorrow. “Why can we not simply live out our lives, like other people?”

  “Because you are not like other people,” Elaina insisted with a touch of asperity. “From your bloodline and Dane’s will come men and women who have the ears of king after king. They shall offer wise counsel, your progeny, and the rulers, however temperamental and impulsive, will heed them.”

  The weight of that knowledge was almost enough to crush Gloriana. “I could bear anything, if only I were close to Dane,” she said.

  Elaina stood before the bench and rested one hand on Gloriana’s shoulder. “As steel is tempered by the fire, so the human spirit is made strong by adversity. Follow the path that is laid before you, Gloriana. If you do not, the Kenbrook line will be gone in a few generations, and all of England will be the poorer for it.” With that, she bent, kissed the top of Gloriana’s head, and turned to make her way back into the keep.

  Gloriana lingered, standing at the low wall overlooking the chapel and the churchyard beyond, pondering Elaina’s words. The woman is mad, she reminded herself, a little desperately. But inside, in the soul of her soul, Gloriana knew Lady Hadleigh had spoken truly. A difficult time lay ahead but, if she could manage to endure, lasting happiness would follow.

  She covered her face with both hands, too stricken to weep. She must go from Dane’s house, his heart, his bed, and there was no knowing when the parting would come or how long it would last. The prospect was crushing.

  “You are overtired,” a familiar masculine voice observed from just behind her. Dane took a gentle hold on her arm. “Come, Lady Kenbrook. I’ll put you to bed.”

  Gloriana turned to face the man she had loved completely from a tender age. With a sob, she hurled her arms around his neck and held on tightly.<
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  “What is it, sweet?” Dane asked, in a gruff voice, lifting her easily into his arms. “Did Elaina say something to upset you? You mustn’t forget that she’s moonstruck.”

  Gloriana rested her head on Dane’s shoulder and sniffled once. “I don’t wish to talk about Lady Hadleigh or her malady,” she said, and that was the first of her sacrifices. In truth, she wanted to pour out the whole story to Dane and beg him to make things different somehow so that they needn’t be parted. Because she knew he could do nothing but suffer with the knowledge of what was to come, she held her peace. “My feet ache, and I think you should rub them with oil until I sleep.”

  Dane laughed as he carried her, avoiding the main hall for a side passage and the stairway that lay beyond. Although it was quite dark, he knew his way, and it struck Gloriana that he must have spent a great deal of time in the keep before he went away to fight the Turk. “You are sorely spoiled, milady,” he said. “I shall have to take a firm hand with you, I can see that, or you will surely have me dancing, leashed and collared, hike a mummer’s monkey.”

  Gloriana spread her fingers over his chest, felt the strong, steady beat of his heart against her palm. “I will always love you,” she told him.

  They had gained an upper gallery by then, and he set her on her feet suddenly, gripping her shoulders and looking deep into her eyes. “I heard a dire note in that brief speech, milady. What did it mean?”

  She reached up to caress his face with one hand. He was backlit by the fierce silver-white glow of a full moon, but the rest of him was swathed in shadow, and she could not read his expression. “I will care for you until the end of my days, and beyond if that is possible. That is all I was saying.”

  Dane grasped her chin in his fingers, lifting her face to the light. While he was hidden, her every emotion was surely visible. She prayed he would not see that he had been right, that she was, after a fashion, bidding him farewell.

  “I love you, Gloriana,” Dane said in a raspy, wondrous whisper. And then he kissed her.