by Lynsay Sands
"'Tis nice," she said and Robert and Aric exchanged a glance.
Describing Shambley as nice was like calling a bear slightly furry. Shambley was amazing. Built of silver-gray stone, it was flanked by forest, and seemed almost to float on the crystalline water of its moat. No matter what direction you approached from, or from which angle you saw it, the castle was magnificent.
Shaking his head, Aric urged his horse onward, moving at a slower pace to allow Robert to take the lead. Moments later they had ridden through the gates and arrived at the keep steps.
"Aric! Robert!"
Both men brought their horses to a stop, smiling indulgently at the young girl racing down the stairs to greet them.
"Lissa." Robert dismounted quickly, throwing his reins over his horse as he caught the child up in a hug. "Hello, moppet. Miss me?"
"Nay." The girl laughed at the way his mouth drooped, then chided, "You have only been gone a week. 'Sides, 'twould have been impossible to miss you; the keep has been full of people since you left."
Robert arched an eyebrow as he set the child down, and she made a face. "Aunt Esther and Aunt Hortense descended on us the day after you left," she explained. Her expression showed quite clearly her opinion of the houseguests.
"Hoping to see Father die, no doubt," Robert muttered as Aric set Rosamunde on the ground and quickly followed her off the horse.
"Aye." The girl grimaced. "They were most distressed to find him recovering. Though they did try to hide that once they got over their surprise. I think they had hoped that with Father out of the way they could nest here, sponging off Mother for the rest of their days."
Robert wore an expression of displeasure not dissimilar to the girl's. He muttered something uncomplimentary about vultures under his breath, then smiled wryly at Aric as his friend led Rosamunde forward. "It would seem we should have traveled at our own leisure on the way back. We have returned to a full house."
Aric started to nod, then glanced down as Lissa suddenly launched herself at his chest, hugging him as fiercely as she had her brother. "Hello, little one," he said. Rosamunde's eyes widened as Aric smiled affectionately at the child and hugged her back. It was the first sign of any soft emotion she had seen from the man she had married, and startling because of that.
"I missed you, Aric. You left without saying good-bye."
Rosamunde's gaze dropped to the girl at those words, not terribly surprised to see that she was staring up at Aric with a starstruck look of devotion.
"Oh, ho! You did not miss me, but you missed Aric!" Robert waggled his eyebrows in mock horror, eliciting a disgusted look from the girl.
"You are my brother," she pointed out with the weary disdain of someone much older than her years. "I have been saddled with your presence all of my life. Aric is my beau."
Rosamunde's eyebrows rose at that, nearly disappearing into her hairline when she saw the blush that suddenly rode on Aric's cheeks. Giving her a pained smile, Aric cleared his throat. "Lissa is Robert's little sister," he explained unnecessarily.
"And she very generously offered herself as his paramour--to aid in mending his heart after Delia broke it," Robert explained. Wicked amusement danced in his eyes at his friend's discomfort.
"Delia?" Rosamunde murmured curiously, but before anyone would explain, Lissa turned to eye her suspiciously.
"Who is she?" the girl asked belligerently, her arms still wrapped around Aric.
Robert's grin deepened. "Lissa, meet Rosamunde, Lady Burkhart."
"How do you do?" Rosamunde murmured politely, extending a hand in greeting.
Staring at the hand as if it were a dead fish, Lissa asked ominously, "Lady Burkhart?"
"Aric's wife," Robert explained with amusement. "That is why we left in the middle of the night without warning. Aric was off to be married."
Lissa did not look pleased by this news. The child paled miserably, her small arms dropping from Aric, tears filling her eyes. Turning swiftly toward the stairs, she started up them. "I shall tell Mother you are here."
Aric watched her go with a sigh, then gave Robert a remonstrating look.
Managing to look somewhat chagrined, his friend shrugged. "She had to hear the news sometime."
Aric did not look convinced. Rolling his eyes, he shook his head and took Rosamunde's arm to lead her up the stairs behind Robert.
The great hall they entered was in a state of chaos. They had arrived a bit earlier than they had expected. It was not quite the nooning hour, yet the room was crowded with people, some running this way, some the other. And causing it all were two women yelling orders and roaring commands.
"Ah," Robert murmured. "Aunt Hortense and Aunt Esther."
Rosamunde glanced at him curiously, but remained silent as the women bellowed orders.
"Fetch me my embroidery, girl. This mead will not do. 'Tis too sweet; bring me another. Why is it so cold in here? Can no one here build a proper fire?" Each of these demands, from a slender, horse-faced, older woman seated by the fire, sent a servant hurrying off as if bitten. One fetched the required embroidery, another took the cup of mead and flew off for the kitchens, and a third hurried to build up the fire.
Not to be outdone, a rotund woman with a florid face who sat in a second chair by the fire immediately began expelling her own orders. "My, 'tis hot in here. What? Are you trying to boil us all to death with that blaze, girl? Throw some water on it. Here, take my shawl back to my room. And someone fetch me a sweet treat to tide me over until the nooning meal."
More servants went scurrying, and Robert glanced at Rosamunde with amusement. "My aunts. They never married and live off a yearly allowance in London. When they come here, they like to play lady of the manor."
"I see," Rosamunde murmured. Her gaze slid to the stairs and, to the woman who was descending them. She was of an average size, but that was all that was average about her. Her hair was a stunning blond so pale as to be white, and her features were magnificent, though at the moment they were full of weariness. The woman seemed almost to be dragging herself down each step as if too weary to lift her feet. Her shoulders were slumped, and her expression a picture of exhaustion. This was Robert's mother, Rosamunde decided. She looked very much like a woman who had spent days worrying and fretting over a husband, only to have relatives such as the two aunts descend on her the moment he showed signs of recovering.
Espying Robert now, the woman proved Rosamunde's guess correct.
"Son!" she cried, and her entire attitude changed. Her weariness dropped away like an old shawl as she flew down the rest of the stairs to greet them.
Lady Shambley seemed a wonderful woman. She was much like Rosamunde had always imagined her own mother would have been. Obviously relieved and overjoyed to see her son, she hugged him tightly, then welcomed Aric and Rosamunde just as warmly.
Ushering them to the trestle tables, she sent for ale and mead and updated them on Lord Shambley's health. He was recovering nicely, slowly regaining his strength. He was even sitting up for several hours of the day now, and Lady Shambley soon expected him to be demanding to be allowed below stairs.
Much to Rosamunde's surprise, she did not question them much on how Aric had come to be married so suddenly. But then, Rosamunde supposed that Lady Shambley was aware that Bishop Shrewsbury had arrived the night they had left so precipitously. Everyone knew that Shrewsbury went nowhere without the king and vice versa, so it had probably taken very little guesswork to figure out how the marriage had come about.
Once they had finished the beverages she ordered for them, Lady Shambley suggested her son go above stairs to see his father. After he left, she then offered to take Aric and Rosamunde on a tour of her gardens. Aric declined the offer, excusing himself to go and speak with his men, who had been waiting comfortably at Shambley while he raced about the countryside. That left Rosamunde and Lady Shambley alone for their tour.
They had just reached the gardens when Lissa found them and told Lady Shambley that her
husband wished to see her.
Nodding, Lady Shambley asked her daughter to start the tour for her, and promising to return as soon as she could, she hurried off. Rosamunde watched her go, then glanced sympathetically at the rebellious-looking Lissa. She was just wondering how to start a conversation with the girl when the scamp started it for her.
"I do not care if you are the king's bastard or not; if you hurt him like Delia did, I shall...I will"--she frowned, apparently not having considered what threat to use, then finished grimly with--"pull all your nasty red hair out by the roots and choke you with it."
Rosamunde's eyebrows rose at that. "Bloodthirsty little thing, are you not?" She laughed wryly, then asked, "And how did this Delia hurt him?"
When Lissa merely glared at her, her mouth a stubborn line, she added, "Well, if you will not tell me, how can I be sure not to repeat her mistake?"
"By staying in your husband's bed, and not straying into other men's brais."
"Ah." Rosamunde felt herself blush at the deliberately crude words. "I see."
"I am sure you do," Lissa said dryly, and whirled away to stomp back into the castle.
"Meow," Rosamunde murmured as the door slammed behind the girl. Sighing, she gathered her skirts and followed.
Lunch was a lively affair, with the aunts Hortense and Esther struggling to be heard above each other and win the most attention. Lissa spent the mealtime glaring at Rosamunde down the length of the table. It was almost a relief when the meal was over and Aric took her arm to urge her to her feet. But it was not until she heard Lady Shambley's words that Rosamunde realized they were leaving. Their hostess had risen, too.
"It was such a pleasure meeting you, my dear. You must make Aric bring you again so that we can have a longer visit. Anytime after Aunt Hortense and Aunt Esther leave would be grand," she added with a pained smile.
Confusion taking over her expression, Rosamunde glanced from the woman to her husband uncertainly. "What?" No one had bothered to mention that they would be departing immediately.
"We are leaving," Aric said, steering her toward the door. "The men are mounting up even as we speak."
"Oh." She could not help the slight disappointment she felt. Despite the glaring Lissa, the horrid aunts, and the fact that there was no bedchamber available for her, Rosamunde had been rather looking forward to a night indoors again. The great hall floor would have been preferable to dirt, and a real bath instead of the ice-cold dip she had in the river the other morning would have been welcome. Most of all however, she would have been grateful for the respite from riding. Obviously she was not going to get one, however. With a sigh, she glanced over her shoulder to offer a smile of gratitude to Lady Shambley as Aric ushered her out of the keep. "Thank you for the chance to rest and eat. It was lovely."
"You are more than welcome," she was assured graciously, as they reached the mounted men waiting at the bottom of the steps. Aric mounted immediately, then reached down to pull her up before him.
"You were not planning to leave without saying good-bye now, were you?"
Rosamunde glanced around to smile at Robert as he quickly descended the steps toward them. He had not attended the nooning meal. Lady Shambley had said he was taking his meal with his father.
"Would I do that?" Aric responded. He smiled, then added, "'Sides, why would I say good-bye? I thought that surely, from what you said on the way here, that you would be traveling on with us."
"Do not tempt me," Robert muttered dryly, then sighed and shook his head. "If I could come up with a plausible excuse, I would accompany you. Can you think of one?"
Aric laughed. "You are on your own there, friend."
"I feared it would be so," he said wryly, then held out a hand that Aric clasped firmly. "Godspeed and safe journey. I will see you when I see you."
"Aye. And to you as well."
Nodding, the man stepped back, watching forlornly as Aric turned his mount toward the gates and led the way out.
They rode through the rest of the day. The sun was setting when Aric finally called a halt to their travels. Stopping the horse in a clearing, he eased Rosamunde to the ground. Not wishing to embarrass her, he pretended not to notice when she staggered on legs long unused and grasped at his leg to maintain her balance. Dismounting, he staunchly ignored the pain that accompanied the sudden rush of blood through his own legs and led his horse to one of his men.
"Take care of the horses, Smithy," he ordered calmly, then began to shout orders to the others, sending some to collect wood for a fire, others to hunt up some game for supper, and told the remainder to begin setting up camp. He then turned and made his way into the woods. He was gone before Rosamunde could ask what it was exactly she was expected to do.
Deciding it was up to her to find something with which to occupy herself, she made her way through the woods, intent on capturing a rabbit to go with whatever the men brought back for supper. She had barely taken one step out of the clearing when Garvey, her husband's first in command, stepped before her, blocking her path.
Eyes widening, Rosamunde came to a halt, then murmured an apology and went to step around him. He was immediately in her path again. "Excuse me," she snapped, a bit impatiently.
"I realize that it has been a long ride, my lady, but it would be better if you awaited my lord's return to attend to personal needs. I am sure he will not be long, and shall be happy to accompany you then."
Rosamunde blinked at him rather blankly. It took her a moment to realize that he thought she had to relieve herself and was suggesting she wait to do so until Aric could accompany her. Flushing slightly, she shook her head. "I assure you, sir, 'tis nothing personal I intended on doing."
One bushy brown eyebrow rose at that, but otherwise his firm expression did not change. "Then if you would tell me what it is you require, I will be happy to send one of the men to attend to it."
Rosamunde frowned, then sighed and offered a sweet smile. "'Tis quite all right, good sir. I need no assistance; I merely thought that since my husband has shown a preference for my broasted rabbit, I would snare one for his supper."
A strained smile tugged briefly at the corners of the man's mouth, then was gone. "Never fear, my lady. One of the men will surely bring back a rabbit."
Rosamunde hesitated. She had not meant to suggest that the men could not manage to hunt on their own, but realized how her words must have sounded to this man. Smiling wryly, she shook her head. "Of course, you are right. No doubt they shall bring back several." The man relaxed enough to offer a smile and nod, but stiffened up all over again when she again went to step around him, saying, "I shall just help collect some wood, then."
He was back in front of her at once, his expression firm as he shook his head. "The men shall collect wood for the fire, my lady. Why do you not return to the clearing and rest? It has been a long day for you, and tomorrow will be longer."
Rosamunde glared at him, feeling her temper rise then whirled on her heel and flounced back into the clearing. She was all aquiver with impatience and the need to be useful. She had sat silent and still on that damnable horse for days now, and it was driving her mad. She had to do something. Anything.
Spying the stack of wood growing in the center of the clearing, she sighed and hurried forward. Here was something for her to do: she could build a fire.
She had barely begun to build one when she found herself gently but firmly ushered away from the wood by another man. "Why don't you go rest, lass?" the man said as he deposited her back where she'd begun.
They are trying to be kind, she assured herself grimly. You should not lose your temper over this: they are only trying to be kind. Still, she found herself glaring at the back of the man building the fire as he clumsily set about his chore. She could have built a far better fire--and more quickly--if she had been given half a chance.
She was still fuming over that when the first of the hunters returned with his catch. Aric must have chosen a spot near the river again, for the
man carried half a dozen fish he had managed to spear. Pinning a determined smile on her face, she hurried forward to meet the man as he neared the fire. "Oh, my, what lovely fish. Well done, sir," she praised brightly. "Shall I help you to clean them?"
Despite preening at her compliments, still the man refused her help, assuring her he would do well enough, that she should rest. Rosamunde was about to insist when she spied another man returning carrying a couple of rabbits. Deciding that he looked a more likely sort, she turned away from the man with the fish and hurried to the newcomer's side.
When Aric returned from his dip in the river some time later, it was to find his wife seated despondently beside the fire, her unhappiness apparent in her posture. Sighing, he strode quickly toward her.
He had not forgotten her when he had stalked off to have his dip. In fact, he had rather been thinking of her. Riding behind her all the day, the soft curves of her body against his own, her sweet hair flying in his face...well, it had made it hard for him to concentrate on anything but the thought of planting himself deep within her again. And do some of that stirring and plowing she had talked about.
He had thought that opportunity would come once they reached Shambley, but they had arrived to find there was no bed available. Aric would not take his bride on a great hall floor for all to see, nor would he take her in camp surrounded by his men. Unfortunately, he had not bothered bringing a tent on this trip when he had hied off to his friend's home. He had been upset at the time, having just caught his betrothed in another man's arms, and had actually not bothered to take the time to collect much of anything. Thus he now found himself without the necessities that made travel bearable. His wife would be far from comfortable until they reached Goodhall. He himself would not fare much better. Having to camp out in the open every night, with his wife mere inches away and his men only a few feet farther.
That being the case, he thought it best to hurry them all home to Goodhall. There he would finally be able to show his wife that the marriage bed was not a barn, nor was it supposed to be a torture rack. He just had to restrain himself until then. Which was why he had neglected to tend to his wife's personal needs until he had cooled off his desire somewhat with a cold dip in the river. It seemed however, that his wife was now in a state of misery. He supposed she was in dire need of relieving herself. That was the only reason he could think of for her appearing so wretched.