Embarrassed, she struggled to adjust her clothing. The palliasse creaked as the mattress readjusted. “And you don’t care about Peter?”
“I’ve just had the most delightful experience of telling my father a little of the truth about Peter,” he grinned back at her, “and some more about myself. The old man looked as stunned as a newborn sparrow. I relished every intake of his breath and every click of his tongue. He was longing to call me a liar, but Jerrid was there, confirming everything.” He smoothed her skirts back down over her ankles. “And you, my sweet, are suffering from no more than the results of too much worry, too much tension, and too much anticipation. After some hours of headache, if the pestilence was indeed the problem, you’d be showing faint bruising and the beginnings of the rash at least. Instead, I shall find you some willow bark mixture to dull the pain, and order apple codlings for dinner.”
“Oh, Nicholas.”
“Though why I bother helping you redress, I have no idea, since all I really want to do is undress you.”
She reclasped her hands, looking back at her lap. “He’s still haunting us, isn’t he! What he did to you as a boy. What he did to Sissy. And now, wondering who killed him.”
“Don’t we know?”
“So what will you do when Adrian comes back?”
“Enjoy myself, I imagine.” But Nicholas had stopped smiling. He wandered over to the little casement window and its diffusing panes, and opened it, pushing the little iron frame wide. The sunlight doubled, a great billowing golden light into every corner, with spangles along the dusty beamed ceiling arches. “I plan on finally banishing these dark shadowed doubts and black looming grievances.”
“I have been feeling – gloomy. I was so worried about you when Avice thought Adrian might have followed you down here to kill you. After all, you’re the last barrier to his inheritance. Then weeks of thinking about murder, and finding out about Peter and Sissy, and Father of course. And now this, with the pestilence and that poor wretched couple dying in the village. I’ve been so frightened – and every little twinge seems like the footsteps of doom. And on – and on – and on. Everything is a nightmare with no soft fur linings.”
He strode back to her. “What a fine family I’ve brought you into, little one, with the disillusion first, deciding you loved Peter virtually on the eve of his murder. Then the order to marry his ugly and deformed beast of a brother.”
“Oh, Nicholas, I know I was stupid.”
“Peter’s words, I’m sure, my sweet, just as he left me imagining I was to marry his outworn mistress.”
Emeline sniffed. “Outworn?”
Nicholas chuckled. “Well worn, rather than outworn perhaps.” He muffled her retaliation against his shoulder, taking her into his arms, then standing and pulling her up with him. “Do you dance, my love? Beautifully, I’ve no doubt. Well, we’ve not a rebec nor a knackerer’s drum here to sweeten the rhythm, but it’s time I danced with my wife. We’ve a sparkling future to dance into, my love.”
“We do?”
Her upturned face was strained, and he bent and kissed the furrows across her forehead. “It was an inauspicious wedding night, it’s true, but now we know better.” Keeping her still clasped tight, he turned with her, the steps of courtly dance, though not with the required restraint of finger to finger. “I should have danced with you then, but was too pissed and too angry. At least here in private, I’ve no need to play the gallant or keep you at arm’s length. I like the press of your breasts against me.” His eyes, gazing down at her, were summer sky blue in the sunshine. “At court they like to remind us, you know, of chivalry. And so they warn us to tighten the lacings on our codpieces before leaping too high to the music. Loose ties can be a disaster, as you might imagine. Indeed, I’ve seen it happen. But with you here alone, my sweet, perhaps we should be already naked. I’m no ardent dancer, my sweet, but in fact I’ve danced my way through life, choosing whatever steps kept me light footed, avoiding all but adventure. And I’ve spoken my true thoughts or feelings to no one at all since I was six years old. Until now. I’m willing – if you wish to dance into the future with me playing the juggler at your side.” He twisted her twice, arms high, then brought her back against him. “And let me tell you, my sweet, in case you still need to hear it, there’s no woman sickening with the pestilence who can dance, remember the steps, keep her balance and breath, and still feel hungry afterwards.”
She was losing her breath after all. “I’m starving.”
“It’s a drink I need.” Nicholas released her, sitting back with her on the side of the bed. “So more crumbs in the sheets.”
She was panting a little but her headache had partially cleared. “I feel – almost better.” She drew a deep breath, calming her heartbeat and blinking up at him. “Not dreading the future, or wondering about murderers and traitors. Nor thinking about the past and the fire and the castle and you lying there all covered in ashes and raw bleeding patches.”
He laughed suddenly, leaning back against the pillows and bringing her again into his embrace. “You slept in those ashes yourself, my love, and puzzled us all. Were you escaping? From your visions of a future with the monster of Chatwyn?”
“I was so miserable.” He could not see her blushes, which were pressed into invisibility against his shoulder. “Not just because of you, Nicholas dear. It was your father and my father, and everyone telling me what to do when I didn’t want to do any of it. The whole nightmare of the fire.”
“So you chose to sleep in the ruins of our marriage bed, echoing the ruins of our wedding night?”
“I suppose you thought I was mad. First I was the immoral slattern, and then the crazy woman.” She wriggled upright for a moment, frowning at him. “I was so horribly melancholy. Feeling so forlorn, I searched out the most forlorn place to cry in. And perhaps I was a little crazy.” She shook her head, trying to remember. “But something happened I hadn’t even thought of again until now. At the time I thought the Keep was haunted. Ghosts. Ghouls. Whispers. I heard a voice, or thought I did. And when I slept, I dreamed – only a dream perhaps – but someone seemed to touch me. I dreamed of encroachment and fingers prying. Dark eyes watching.” She shook her head again, dismissing memories. “It was my myself I was running away from really. But the whispers frightened me.”
“What words?” Nicholas was staring back at her. “If you remember whispers, my love, then try and remember the words.”
“Most of it was rustles and muddled murmurs.” She was whispering herself. “But afterwards there were words. The stars are singing. That’s what I heard.”
He paused, confused. “You heard singing?”
“No, no.” she clasped his hand, as if for reassurance. “It’s what the whisper said. Sibilant and very, very soft. It said, “The stars are singing.” And that’s the last thing before I fell asleep. But even while I slept, I felt touch – fingers – inside my bedrobe.”
“A vile thought, my sweet. Some half-drunk servant, perhaps. Surely not Adrian, though he was there that night and I’ve no idea what time he left.” Nicholas sighed. “But you’re a deep dreamer and mutter in your sleep most nights. Little mumbles and squeaks, like the busy mouse I once called you. So you woke and remembered the dream, and thought it real. If someone touched you, surely you’d have woken furious. And who there, that night of all nights, would have dared? I hope, my sweet, only dreams, and thank the Lord for it.” He looked up suddenly and smiled. “Now I hear footsteps on the stairs outside.”