“Do you really believe it will rain today?”
“Aye. Sometime today it will.”
“If it rains, then you don’t really intend to tie me out in it, do you?”
At last he heard some worry in her voice. She should be worried; it was a believable threat.
Her head was down, her red hair tangled.
“If you will finally tell me the truth, if you dump out all your secrets, tell me everything you’re keeping from me, I will reconsider my plan.”
She raised her head then and stared at him straight in the face. “There aren’t any secrets. You have whiskers.”
As a distraction, it was very good. “I am a man. It is morning. Of course I have whiskers. You have suffered through four husbands. Naturally you know exactly what has happened. You know everything.”
To his surprise, she raised her hand and lightly touched her fingertips to his cheek, feeling the coarse hair. She touched his chin, his other cheek. “It’s a curse. That’s all I know. I can’t explain any of it. You are very different from me.”
“Merryn, there are young men about Penwyth. I saw at least a dozen. Everyone in that damned castle can explain exactly what is going on.”
“Aye, but the young men are peasants and they aren’t supposed to have me look at them with any interest beyond the tasks they are to accomplish.” She paused a moment, still fretting with the rope about her wrist. “I never saw one of them naked. They didn’t bathe often, and if they did, it wasn’t in the barracks, where I did once or twice see a naked man-at-arms.”
He laughed, just couldn’t stop himself. Suddenly, without thought, he leaned forward and kissed her mouth. She fell as silent as the rope she now held in her hands. He saw that her wrist was chafed. His wasn’t.
She touched her fingertips to her lips, then looked at him. “No one has ever kissed me before.”
“Your second husband kissed you until blood came out of his mouth.”
She actually shuddered. “Aye, Sir Gifford de Lancey. It was horrible. I don’t want to remember that.”
“He’s dead. Sufficient punishment.”
She nodded slowly. “Aye, I suppose it was.”
“Did he touch you?”
Her hand touched her breasts, but she didn’t say anything.
He fell back laughing again. “In the normal course of things, still being a virgin after four husbands would be impossible to believe.”
She went up to her knees, looked around the small space. “I must relieve myself.”
“Aye, I have to as well.”
It was a beautiful morning, not as warm as it had been the day before. It was at that instant that he smelled the change in the air. It was always so. This shift in the very feel of the air itself. The sun was low on the horizon. It was still early. The sea was calm. He watched her walk to the one bush. He turned and relieved himself, thinking for the first time in his life that it was a much easier task for a man.
He saw to Fearless, who was bored and ready to butt Bishop’s shoulder with his great head. He rubbed him down, moved him to another place, this one closer to the cliff edge so he could see all the birds at play below.
When she came out from behind the bush, she sniffed the air as he had and smiled. “I’m quite hungry. Let me see what Dumas packed for us.”
He could but stare at her. Was this just a simple pleasant outing for her? She didn’t appear to be afraid of him at all. This wasn’t good.
He said, his voice all hard and rough, “Go through the supplies. Then after we eat, I will tell you what I’ve decided to do with you.”
That made her wary again, made her afraid, which she should be. He was getting used to the idea that he would marry her. Since he’d been told by every man he’d known that it was a wife’s duty and obligation before God to obey her husband, give him children that survived, and never disagree with him, he realized that she could pose something of a challenge. After all, she wanted to be the heir to Penwyth as much as he did.
Then, suddenly, he clearly saw a small boy in his mind’s eye, a boy whose hair was as black as his. Ah, but the boy’s eyes, they were green as the Boskednan swamp grass, not dark blue like his. This was nonsense. He wasn’t a damned seer. He wasn’t a wizard, either. He knew no secrets, no ancient truths that floated through the eras to come into the modern day, evidently still fully potent. No, he couldn’t conjure up a meal for himself, much less curse a man and make him keel over dead.
So where had that boy child come from? Likely from sleeping on the hard ground, a female sprawled on top of him. The result was painted images in his brain.
He knew only about rain, nothing more. He didn’t know much about females, either, just that to have a willing body beneath him made him feel very good for a number of hours after. Every man he’d ever known was just the same.
She said, “My grandmother whispered to me how you, with no hesitation at all, told her that she’d birthed five children. How did you know that?”
He took the piece of Beelzebub’s cheese she handed him and chewed on it, gaining himself some time. He shrugged, swallowed the cheese, and said, “I have told you. I am a wizard. I know things.”
“Or mayhap the king mentioned it to you.”
“How would the king know such a thing? Why would he care?”
That was true enough. She gave him a loaf of bread that she unwrapped from a cheese cloth, watched him break it apart in his big hands. She said, “My grandmother was frightened.”
“Good. She should be. However frightened she was, she still wouldn’t tell me anything of any use at all. She is a very strange lady, Merryn. Did she raise you?”
“Aye, she did raise me, I suppose you could say. More often than not, though, I simply did what I wished until our steward, Ranlief—”
“At least the steward got to sleep in his own chamber last night.”
“Aye, I’m sure he appreciated that. He says his bones pain him during the night. My grandfather had a special mattress made for him. It’s filled with feathers from chickens and geese. Ranlief was the one who taught me how to read a bit and to write. You said my grandmother was strange. I have always found her fascinating. She prides herself on her strangeness, her contrariness. It drives my grandfather quite mad, always has, and she knows it full well. But you know, I believe that he hit her only that one time, never again, not even after Meridian died.”
“What about your mother?”
“My own mother died shortly after she’d birthed her third son. All the boy babes died. Only I survived. My father, Sir Thomas, wasn’t often at Penwyth after my mother died. He didn’t seem to care anymore.”
“Your great-grandmother—Meridian. That is a very strange name. I’m very sorry about the boy babes, but to survive to manhood is difficult.”
“Aye, it is. I heard talk that I should have died, not the boys, but I didn’t.”
“Where did Meridian live?”
“In a castle near Tintagel. She knew things, just like you know things, and they happened. I’m not lying to you. Did the curse really come from her? Or through her? I don’t know. You see, I am telling you everything I know.” Then she fell silent, chewed on the bread he handed her, and he wondered if she were chewing over her lies as well, her secrets, damn her eyes. “I think if my great-grandfather did kill her it was because he was simply too frightened of her to let her live.”
The wind died. From one moment to the next, the wind simply stopped. The air seemed to thin, to flatten. It was a very strange thing, but Bishop felt it happen, deep inside him. He didn’t move, just let this strangeness seep into him.
Merryn said, “What is wrong, Bishop? Why do you look so strange?”
Suddenly Fearless whinnied.
Bishop jumped to his feet and looked around, but there was nothing—no one was anywhere near them. He’d picked this spot because he could immediately see anyone coming.
Nothing. Just the morning haze that stretched as far as he could see
. He saw the west tower of Penwyth in the distance. Were men staring toward Land’s End, trying to see them? He didn’t know, couldn’t know.
“Nothing is wrong.” He finished the bread, drank down a goodly amount of the ale, and said, “I have decided what I’m going to do with you.”
10
HE DIDN’T SAY ANOTHER word to her, just gave her a hand and settled her in front of him on Fearless’s back. They rode northward along the coastline. He made sure they were always on or very near Penwyth land. He wanted to see the span of his property. The situation, he saw, was very bad. Planted fields were on the very edge of survival, and, Bishop realized, most of the people were as well. He prayed that his rain gift wouldn’t fail him this time, because it was clear to him that Penwyth was dying.
“It doesn’t look very good,” Merryn said.
“No, it does not.”
“You haven’t done anything with me yet,” she said after another long silence between them.
“I am looking for the perfect spot to stake you out for the rains that are coming soon.”
But he didn’t seem to find the perfect spot. He stopped, and they ate the rest of Dumas’s supplies. He saw that she was looking very pleased with herself. In that instant he knew that he had to do something or she would have her foot on his neck. She would believe him naught but an empty bladder. He couldn’t allow that.
“Here,” he said, seeing that they were still on Penwyth land. “This small hillock. This is where you can drown in the rain that’s coming. Actually, since it’s a hill, you won’t drown because all the water will flow off you, but you’ll still get pounded.”
She didn’t believe him. “I wish to go back to Penwyth now. Everyone will be very worried about me.”
“Why would they worry? They know I am punishing you. Do they believe I will kill you? Hmmm.” He grabbed her wrists and tied the rope around them. She fought him. She was strong, and she tugged and jerked and yelled at him, but he just tightened the knot until he was satisfied. He dragged her to a sturdy bush atop the hillock, locked his foot behind her knees and knocked her over backward, then came down over her. “Hold still. I told you what I was going to do.”
“No. I won’t let you.” She managed to bring her bound wrists up and clout him in the jaw, catching him off guard. He fell back, and she scrambled to her feet. “You will not tie me down like some animal.” She ran. He could see her chewing on the rope, trying to loosen it as she ran.
He was nearly on her, careful of his own balance because they were running down the hill and there were rocks and brambles everywhere. He could hear her furious breathing. She was looking over her shoulder at him when her foot struck a rock. She yelled as she went flying forward, her bound hands out to break her fall. She landed on her hands and knees and rolled over and over, until at last she came to a sprawled stop at the base of the hillock.
“Damn you, Merryn.” He nearly fell himself, but managed to keep his balance until he could get to her. He went down on his knees beside her. She was unconscious. He sat back on his heels and closed his eyes.
The day wasn’t going very well.
He lightly touched his fingers to her head and felt the growing lump behind her left ear. Thank God her hair was thick. He hoped it had protected her a bit.
He turned her over on her back, felt her arms, her legs, and could find nothing broken. But her insides, that was the question. Bad things could happen if the insides were jarred and pounded. He paled. He raised his face to the heavens and cursed.
“A bishop shouldn’t say such things.”
“I am not a bishop. I am the bishop. And that is Sir Bishop to you.”
She heard the relief in his voice. She was both angry and afraid of him, and yet she wished she could smile at his wit, but the truth was, she wanted to hit her head with another rock so she could ease away into that lovely oblivion.
It wasn’t to be. She closed her eyes. She’d never felt such pain before—pounding pain, ferocious pain, nearly blinding her. She felt him untying the rope, rubbing her wrists. Then his palm was on her brow and he was leaning close. She felt his warm breath on her skin.
“There is nothing I can do to help you.”
She knew that. She also heard the worry in his voice. “I can’t move.”
“No, don’t even try. Just lie still.”
He was gone. She heard Fearless whinny, heard Bishop speaking low to his stallion. Then there were two blankets covering her. He lifted her and placed a folded blanket beneath her head.
She didn’t make a sound, but it was hard, very hard.
She felt his fingertips on her cheeks and knew he was wiping away her tears.
Then, with no warning at all, the heavens opened up and the rain poured down.
Bishop looked up through the incredible sheets of rain and cursed again. The precious rain, bringing life to the parched earth. Why couldn’t it have held off just a little while longer?
“You don’t have to tie me down,” she said, then turned her face away. “I will drown anyway because I can’t move and the ground is flat here.”
He huddled over her, trying to keep the worst of it off her, but it wasn’t possible. Fearless whinnied. He was miserable.
Bishop crouched lower over her, his nose not an inch from hers. He didn’t know what to do. The skies had darkened a bit, he’d realized that in some part of his brain, but with his future wife lying nearly unconscious at his feet, he hadn’t really paid attention.
He cursed again and touched his nose to hers. “Listen to me, Merryn. I cannot take the risk of moving you, so I’m going to set up the tent. It will keep us a little dry.”
“Why didn’t you think of that sooner?”
“Mayhap I was thinking that you might have the gall to die on me.”
“If I am to die, please let me die dry.”
He set the tent up right beside her. Thank God the ground was more level than not, since she’d rolled all the way down that hillock before she’d struck her head.
Slowly, knowing she was awake, knowing that the pain was ripping through her head, he eased into the tent and slowly, his hands beneath her arms, he pulled her inside. The blankets were wet, but he couldn’t help that. She couldn’t very well lie on the bare ground. Once he had her inside, once he knew for sure that the tent would keep the worst of the rain off them, he lay on his side next to her, close, to give her his body heat. Her red hair was wet, plastered to her head. He saw a bruise rising on her cheek.
“Breathe very slowly and lightly,” he said. “Come on, Merryn, you can do it.” He knew this was the right thing because once, when he’d been lying on the ground, trying not to moan with the immense pain in his shoulder from a bandit’s axe, Dumas had said over and over, right in his ear, “Breathe, Bishop, but keep it calm and easy. Don’t suck it in, no, just light and easy. That’s right. I’ll take care of this.”
And so it was that Bishop repeated the same things to Merryn. He touched his fingertips to her forehead and began to massage her; then her scalp, drawing closer and closer to the lump over her temple. Slowly she began to ease.
The rain was battering the tent, and he knew the canvas was sodden by now. Would it withstand the force of the storm? He didn’t know. He’d never before been in a rainstorm this heavy.
He felt her take his hand, squeeze his fingers when the pain was bad. To distract her, he began to talk. “I fought in Normandy with the Duke de Crecy, a villain of a man, more cruel and ruthless than the legendary Richard Coeur de Lion. He had not a care for his own hide. He was happiest, I think, when he was slicing his mighty sword, cleaving men in two, kicking the two halves apart. That last battle earned me a goodly amount of wealth, and so I came home to Cornwall. That was when I chanced upon Philippa de Beauchamp surrounded by a group of bandits.”
She was quiet, too quiet, no longer squeezing his fingers.
Bishop laid his palm on her forehead. Cool, no fever—at least not yet.
“Who is
Philippa?”
“Good, you’re awake. Just keep breathing and listen to me. Philippa is the king’s illegitimate daughter, married to Dienwald de Fortenberry, earl of St. Erth. You will not believe this, but she was riding with half a dozen men and found herself in the middle of a trap. The leader had grabbed her and was holding a knife against her ribs. I managed to free her and kill the leader. Then Dienwald arrived. It all ended well, and then I was—”
The day suddenly became night, black as the sand on the Land’s End beach. A flash of lightning cut through the blackness. She cried out.
He gathered her against him, knowing that if the rain came down any harder, the tent would collapse.
Another huge slash of lightning burned his eyes with its fierce brightness.
Thunder rolled overhead, making the earth tremble.
Then suddenly thunder crashed right over the tent, so close, so very close, and Bishop heard a rock explode just feet away. He pulled Merryn more tightly against him, protecting her head as best he could.
“It will be all right,” he said, and said it again, as much for himself as for her. The minutes passed, the rain pounded down, and he knew that the tent would soon collapse on top of him.
A slash of lightning lit up the inside of the tent, bright as the noonday sun. The thunder struck, and the earth shook, but the light didn’t fade.
It made no sense.
Still the light didn’t fade. It grew even brighter.
And brighter yet.
He stared up at the dome of the tent, at the sturdy pole that kept it up, and it seemed to him that the light was now hovering right above his head. In the deepest part of him, he could feel the darkness trying to come closer, to consume the light, but the light held it at bay.
There was another earsplitting clap of thunder, then yet another.
Then it was utterly quiet. Too quiet, as if the air itself had been swallowed, sucked into something deep and black, something he couldn’t see, but he could feel it.
Then just as suddenly the light was gone, swallowed by the blackness, only now the blackness was heavy and thick. He felt light-headed with the weight of it.