by C. C. Wiley
His frown deepened as he paused to ponder her request. “’Tis impossible.”
Clarice smacked the water with the brush and looked as if she wanted another good blow to his head. “I did as you bid me and offered my apology.”
“And an insincere one at that.” Ranulf shifted on the stool. “I doubt ’tis safe to let you out of my sight. You are a stubborn, dangerous woman with a tendency for finding trouble.” He stopped to reconsider. “Or ’tis trouble that finds you. I haven’t decided.”
Clarice gripped the edge of the tub and pointed at the exit. “Lord Ranulf, get out.”
Ranulf leaned forward. He wiped the drop of water from her pert nose and extracted the brush from her fingers. Certain she had no more weapons at her disposal, he leaned toward her. His lips moved against the delicate outer shell of her ear as he spoke. “My name is Ranulf. ’Tis how you will direct all conversation to me from now on.” He found her mouth with his, plying a kiss to her lips. He lingered on her lower lip, tasting the full flesh with his tongue. Satisfied with his work, he finished by giving her a chaste peck on the forehead. “’Tis my demand as lord.”
Clarice blinked before answering. Pink whirls bloomed on her cheeks. “Yes, Lord Ranulf.”
He found it hard to believe she gave in for any other reason than her precarious situation. Frankly, he did not care how he attained her cooperation. At the moment, the sound of his given name was satisfying. “Ranulf will do.”
He stood, the need to put distance between himself and her soft, ripe lips was imperative. ’Twas perilous for him to remain. She was intoxicatingly dangerous.
“Ranulf?”
“Yes?”
“The water grows cold.” Her gaze lifted to meet his. “If you would give me a moment, I’ll heat fresh water to fill your tub.”
He sniffed the aromatic steam rising from her flesh. “’Tis nothing that cannot be remedied. I saw to it before I found you here.” With a sure, swift tug, he pulled on the rope, and a spout of steaming water rained down on her head. He picked up the soggy clothing on the floor as he left. “I’ve always found fresh water is best.”
Clarice’s curses rang through the garden and into the bailey, threatening to unman the next person who set foot in the tent.
Ranulf dropped the bath linens into the laundress’s basket as he made his way toward the outer wall and through the gate. Tonight no bucket held enough cold water to wash away the vision teasing his mind. The breasts he had unbound earlier were more beautiful than he’d imagined. He did not rest until he stopped at the small pond. Shucking his tunic and leggings, he dove into the chilled water.
The rest of the day he spent washing away the unwanted need rising in his blood. Even as he rose out of the pond, his body refused to settle. The sight of Clarice’s pert breasts filled his mind. Gilded with a glossy sheen of oil and water, her skin had danced with light and passion. The perfumed oils had enhanced her scent. His need for her was all-consuming.
Every time he searched for answers to his questions, a path led him straight to Clarice. Every thought that led him to Clarice also led him to another dunking in the frigid water. After diving in for the tenth time, he stopped keeping count.
At one point he found himself yearning for winter. At least then he could plow his befuddled brain in a snowbank and be done with it.
Cursing the heavens for depositing her into his life, he gave up trying to wash her out of his head. He rammed his fingers through his wet hair. What was he doing? He was a man who had fought at the king’s side. A Knight of the Swan. Lord of Sedgewic. And he knew how to seduce a woman. Even a treacherous one.
She had played her game well. She had to know her effect on him. No woman was oblivious to the power she held or was unwilling to wield her supremacy.
Ranulf grinned. He might even allow her to think her game of seduction was successful. At least until he learned all her secrets.
* * *
As time passed, Clarice banished all thoughts of Ranulf and his kiss to hell, where they belonged. Then the tent’s flap snapped open. Water splashed over the sides of the bathing tub as she dived to cover herself.
Erwina strode in, her arms full of bathing linens. “Why do you still soak?”
Clarice pretended to fish the washing linen from the bottom of the tub. She prayed Erwina brought something clean for her to wear. However, one never knew what to expect at Castle Sedgewic. After all, Ranulf had left her without a stitch to replace her filthy clothes.
Erwina bent to pick up the boar-bristle brush and laid it on the side table. “If ’tis your death you are wishing, I should warn you, no one at Sedgewic has ever succumbed to death when bathing while they were under my care.”
Unable to unlock her teeth, Clarice allowed her body to shake, hoping her head would eventually follow.
Erwina laid the bundle on the stool and turned to straighten the vials of scented oils. “Don’t know how you managed to stay in a tub all afternoon. If you are not half dead, you must be half melted.”
“Cannot get-t-t-t out! M-m-m-might come back. N-n-no clothes.”
Erwina eyed the pile laying on the floor next to the bundle she had carried into the room. She held up the skirt of a woolen dress. “What’s wrong with this? I know ’tis old, but I am certain it will fit.”
“Wh-wh-where did that come from?”
“Lord Ranulf sent it earlier. He thought you might enjoy this gown more than the other.” Erwina let the material drop and tucked a straggling gray hair behind her ear. “’Course if it were up to me, you would not be allowed any extra comfort until you helped clean up the solar.”
“I was ordered to come here.”
“And bathe all day?”
“No, but—”
“’Tis your choice, Clarice. But I will not have the children harmed by your actions.”
“Mistress Erwina, short of taking too much time to bathe, I have done nothing wrong.”
“You lingered in a tub with a man all afternoon. There are children about.”
“N-n-not true!”
Erwina sniffed and lifted her shoulder. “They report what they see.”
“Then they shouldn’t tattle.”
“They shouldn’t have reason to have tales to tell—”
Clarice looked up. “But they do,” she finished.
Erwina clasped her hands together. Lines of concern etched her face. “The lord of Sedgewic was seen entering this tent and you within.”
“As you can see, he isn’t here.”
“No one has seen him since he left on foot through the castle gate. I thought it possible you might know his intended direction.”
Clarice rose to get out of the watery prison. Smiling weakly, she thanked Erwina for the warm toweling sheet. She tugged on the chemise and woolen hose, followed by the brown skirt and green overgrown.
Erwina waited, urging her with stony silence.
Clarice glanced over her shoulder as she tied the satin ribbon under her breasts. “I suppose you want the full explanation for my tardiness.”
“No.”
Clarice knew better than that. Maud used the same technique when she was disagreeable.
Out of sorts was what she called it. She continued as if Erwina had begged her to tell all. “I feared his lordship would return and find me naked as the day my mother bore me. I was unaware fresh clothing lay on the stool. I don’t know when they arrived.”
“As I said, Lord Ranulf sent them long before he left.”
“How’s a body to know that?” Clarice muttered.
She could not explain it, but her heart lifted at the thought that she had been wrong. He had not even touched her; well, almost not at all. Her scalp still tingled where his fingers had scrubbed her head. And that single kiss, his playful lips on hers. She knew it was wrong, and even if it meant nothing to him, when he kissed her, a buzzing sensation had rushed clear to her toes.
Erwina scooped up the drying cloths and threw them into the bas
ket. “Did his lordship mention where he intended to go? There is much that needs his attention.”
Guilt leaped through Clarice. Had she hit Ranulf hard enough to muddle his brain? What if he was lost somewhere outside the wall? ’Twas dangerous to travel at night; she knew that first hand. But to travel in the dark without a clear mind? She shuddered to think what would become of him.
Fear hit her twofold when she stepped out of the tent. The last rays of light colored the sky a deep purple. A bank of clouds moved over the horizon, blanketing the moon and stars with its heavy haze. Clarice stumbled to a stop, unsure where to start her search.
“Erwina, we have to find him,” she whispered. “I think I may have injured him greatly.”
Sickened by her violence, she grabbed the small kitchen blade from Erwina’s belt. She lifted the knife and pressed it to her heart. “Kill me,” she cried. “Avenge your lord.”
Erwina struck the knife from her fingers. “Don’t be a fool. I’m certain he can withstand any assault you might deliver. We’ll send a message to the garrison and inform Sir Nathan and Sir Darrick that the lord of Sedgewic cannot be found. We’ll search for him until we have run out of places to look.”
“How can you trust me to help?”
“I don’t necessarily.” Erwina patted Clarice’s cheek and smiled. “But I think there is potential.”
“’Tis all my fault.”
“Oh, piffle.” Erwina waved her hands. “His lordship has fought more battles and seen more pain than any of us will ever know in our nightmares. And yet he has retained goodness and strength. If he brought you to his castle, he isn’t finished with you until he says ’tis so. Besides,” she shrugged, “if he didn’t trust you, you would have found yourself locked in one of the dungeon cells.”
She laid her hand on Clarice’s shoulder. “You need a cloak. Come, child. We’ll head to the hall before daylight is gone.”
* * *
Ranulf stood inside the garrison. After abandoning the pond’s icy water, the need to thaw his aching limbs had become heavier than the need to be alone with his thoughts. He hunched his back, pressing his palms into the hearth. Warmth seeped through the stone and into his body. He shook his head. Water sprayed into the flames, sizzling as it dissipated.
His friends watched him. He could feel their stares burrowing into his shoulder blades.
“Your horse threw you?” Nathan called out.
Angling his head in Nathan’s direction, Ranulf snarled, “Swiving bastard.”
Nathan dropped the leather tack and cleaning rag on the floor. Grasping his chest, he pretended to have been struck by the slur. “You cut me deep, my friend.” He leaned in. “Really, ’tis nothing to be ashamed of. A great number of gentlemen are thrown by their horses. ’Tis possible you’ve been taking life too easy and have lost your manly stones.”
Darrick touched Nathan on his broad shoulder. “Not tonight,” he warned.
The heat rose up Ranulf’s jerkin, searing a path to the cords in his neck. “’Twould be best if you heeded his advice.”
Ignoring both of them, Nathan sat up and rubbed the whiskers on his chin. “I don’t think ’tis horse problems at all. Something else sours our friend this eve.” Tapping his nose, he shot up from the bench. “Ah-ha! ’Tis a woman.” He stopped, dejected, and dropped back down. “No, the women residing in this wretched castle are either spoken for or too old to catch a desperate eye. Unless, of course, you’re an old sod like Sergeant Krell. ’Course there are sweet little maidens. But they are too young to notice unless you are a desperate mongrel.” He held a hand up to stay Ranulf where he stood and rushed on. “While I know your character is not in question here. So, if ’tis not romantic pestilence that darkens your soul, then pray tell us, what ails—”
Ranulf flew through the air and landed on top of Nathan’s back. The chant in his head to destroy the grin echoed in his blood. He drew back. His own grin stretched wider and he chose to cuff the knight on the side of his head.
Nathan took advantage of his leniency, tagging Ranulf’s mouth with his knuckles. Ranulf stumbled and fell to the ground.
“Sweet Lord,” Nathan crowed. He dropped to his knees, pinning Ranulf to the floor. “It feels good to be doing something besides waiting for the signal to push on.”
In the midst of pausing to gulp in the air and enjoy the release of a good brawl, they turned to see a pair of small slippers standing at their heads.
Ranulf winced when he heard the smack of a stool against Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan shoved Ranulf back and threw his attacker to the ground.
“No.” Ranulf spun Nathan by the shoulder, planting his fist into his face.
“What the bloody hell?” Nathan glared at him before sagging against the wall.
Bending down, Ranulf yanked the harpy off the floor and flipped back the hood. He looked over his shoulder. “Nathan, I believe you two have met. This is my pestilence, otherwise known as Clarice.”
Nathan wiped his nose with the back of his hand. His face blanched when she held out her hand and offered him her handkerchief.
An impressive streak of pink crawled up her neck. “My apologies. . . I thought you were hurting him.”
“Looked like it, didn’t it?” Nathan dabbed at the blood and grinned at her. “My apologies as well. I thought you a young maiden earlier.” His brows rose higher. “I see now by the way you fill out your gown that I was wrong. Quite a beautiful wench, aren’t you? Didn’t know Sedgewic boasted tasty morsels such as yourself. If you’ve a mind and are through with his lordship, I’m willing to have you warm my bed.”
“Not a word.” Ranulf covered her mouth with his hand before she shredded her fragile apology. “By the gods, not a word.”
Chapter 19
Ranulf tightened his grip around Clarice’s waist, squeezing the breath and nasty comments from her mouth and dragging her through the doorway of his bedchamber. Where the devil had she learned to string a set of curses together? “Have you lost your wits?”
He snarled an oath as her teeth came uncomfortably close to his rib cage. “Bite me again,” he warned, “and you’ll regret it for the rest of your nights.”
Ignoring the fresh wound, he spun her off his hip and wrestled the wench into the crook of his arm. He took a few steps toward a high-backed chair before lurching to a stop. He spun on his heel and landed on the wooden seat. The chair rocked back, threatening to dump them both onto the floor.
“Release me at once,” she said.
“When you have learned to control yourself.”
“I am not a whore to be passed around,” she shouted, making his ears ring with her outrage.
“All right. All right,” he soothed.
Dodging the elbow aimed at his chin, he trapped her arms at her sides. Their chests rose and fell as one. Her rigid back softened as she contained her emotions.
Heat radiated through layers of tunic and leggings. It slid across his thighs, pouring fire into his veins.
Ranulf closed his eyes, allowing a brief moment to let it seep into his soul. His mind argued against the foolishness of bringing the handful of trouble to his private chambers. Again. God, but the feel of her in his arms brought him back to life. She was light in a dark room. Her soft curves pressed into his lap, causing his breath to stick somewhere in his chest. “I’m sorry. I should have defended you.”
“Agreed.”
He dipped his head and the sharp edge of her shoulder caught him between the eyes. The brief pleasure that had disturbed his sound reasoning disintegrated into a thousand stars.
“Christ’s bones.” He squinted down at her through watering eyes.
She hitched a hip, turning to blink at him with false innocence, lashes fluttering. “Did I injure you? Mayhap you should see Mistress Erwina for a poultice. I’m happy to fetch her.” She moved as if free to rise. Her hands grazed against thighs, narrowly missing his groin. “Oh . . .” She froze, hands trapped, her hips in midrise.
; “I do not require Erwina’s services,” he snapped.
Thoughts of throttling the wench flashed through his mind. He quickly discarded it. The task would require releasing her arms. Instead, he tightened his hold, squeezing once to gain her full attention. “Peace.”
Although he knew he should not dump her on the floor as he wished, he was tempted to do it all the same. She was the most irritating woman he had ever had the misfortune of meeting. However, his front parts were finding her posterior a fortunate situation.
Her stomach rumbled, reminding him that he had missed two meals that day. He doubted she’d had more than the bread and cheese he’d sent out to her. He hated to admit it, but he hungered for something more than warmed ale and a hearty joint of beef.
“Be still,” he growled against the base of her neck. Her scent, blending with the perfumed oils, brought back visions of her body, shimmering just out of reach.
Nudging her with his chin, he tilted back her head until he found those blasted bottomless sapphire pools. Like a siren, they drew him to the edge, prepared to leap into their depths. The rapid rhythm of her heart vibrated against his body. The crests of her breasts shuddered with every breath. He shook off her gaze, fixing his eyes on the silky flesh escaping the soft woolen bodice of her gown.
His hands itched to skim across her curves. Duty won out and he kept her elbows pinned at her side. But his knuckles could not escape the trap. They brushed against the sides of her straining rib cage, fractions away from her luscious skin, taunting and teasing his restraint.
He let his gaze sweep across the top of her glossy mane, to the curving rise and fall of her breasts, to her pale kneecap peeking out from under a soft fold of skirt.
His visual expedition stalled at the edge of her battered slippers. The curious desire to know if her calves were as softly curved as the rest of her limbs tormented his good sense. Desperate, he sought to distract the awakening dragon coiled deep within his loins. Why did it matter to him if the ill-fitting slippers pinched her feet? He could just as easily explain his concern that the bodice might be scratching her delicate skin.