Always
Page 22
By the midday meal, Rosamunde had enjoyed quite enough of her husband's company, and she had hoped that he would remain behind in the keep during the afternoon. Alas, as soon as the meal was over and she rose to return to the stables, Aric was on his feet to accompany her. She had suggested then, gently, that he entertain his father and Robert in the afternoon rather than follow her around, but he had quickly put paid to that possibility. Nay, he'd said, he was happy to help her and keep her company.
All Rosamunde could do was sigh and shake her head. His statement would have been more believable had he not spit the words through gritted teeth as he trailed her through the pouring rain to the bull's paddock. The bull. The one who had stomped and gored poor Jemmy's pup. Its owner had approached her just ere the nooning meal to ask if she might not take a look at the animal. The beast seemed to be favoring one leg. Soaking wet and covered in mud to her knees, Rosamunde had arrived at the paddock where the bull resided in no mood for its cantankerous antics.
Aric had taken one look at the huge, angry beast and the way it glowered at them as they neared the wooden enclosure it was in, then drawn Rosamunde to a halt. He'd then turned to the bull's owner to begin discussing ropes or various other methods of subduing the animal so that she might safely enter the pen. Knowing it was useless to argue, Rosamunde had waited in the pouring rain until they moved off in search of such materials. As soon as the two men disappeared inside the ramshackle old shed that passed for the owner's barn, she had shaken her head, and moved to the fence. The bull had immediately turned to face her, lowering its head threateningly.
Rosamunde had tried a nice, soothing tone to calm the animal, but the bull had merely pawed the ground a time or two in response. She had deduced from that that it wasn't fear making him cranky. The bull was just miserable. Wonderful. Well, she hadn't felt her most charming at that moment either, and didn't appreciate the fact that she was getting cold and wet all for an ungrateful brute of a bull that stomped on poor, defenseless puppies.
Muttering under her breath, she had lifted her skirts slightly so that he could see her legs, then imitated his pawing motion--just to let him know she wasn't intimidated. Then she had climbed determinedly up on the fence. She had been about to swing one leg over the top bar, but froze when the bull had suddenly charged. The bull charged until it was a hairbreadth away from the fence, and then veered away.
She had known it would do that. The animal was feinting, warning her of what it would do should she not stay on her side of the fence. But Rosamunde hadn't been about to put up with such nonsense. As the bull started to turn away, she swung her sack of medicinals over the fence and clubbed the beast in the head with it.
Startled, the animal had sidestepped quickly and whirled to face her. Rosamunde could have sworn she saw an amazed and injured look in the bull's eyes. She suspected most people gave it a wide berth and did not challenge its posturing--except mayhap for puppies that didn't know better and were easy to trounce. But she had found that animals were a lot like people. And bullies were the same no matter the species.
Having gotten its attention, Rosamunde had smiled sweetly and slid her hand in her pocket. She dug about inside. Pulling out an apple, she waved it from side to side, then held it out. "Care for some?"
The bull had stayed put, but she'd been able to see the interest in its eyes. She had smiled slightly before tossing the fruit lightly onto the grass at its feet. Watching her warily, presumably lest she suddenly go mad and start thrashing him again with her bag, it lowered its head carefully and nudged the apple, then bit into it. Rosamunde waited patiently.
Angus, the bull at the abbey, had known a weakness for apples that Rosamunde had hoped that this bull would share. Much to her relief, this bull also proved susceptible. The succulent bribe quickly disappeared.
Reaching into her bag, Rosamunde had taken out another apple, waved it from side to side, then swung first one leg, then the other, over the fence so that she sat on it with both legs inside the paddock. Pausing, she'd leaned forward to hold it out.
The bull had stared at her, hesitating, then had taken one step forward. Then it stopped and simply stared at her. Rosamunde had hesitated, then tossed the apple to the ground halfway between them. The bull had eyed her warily, but closed the space. It quickly gobbled up the second offering. Rosamunde had promptly produced a third, and that had been the charm. All she had had to do was hold it out; this time the bull had moved cautiously forward and taken it carefully from where she held it out on her flat palm. While it ate that one, Rosamunde had eased off the fence and slowly circled it, murmuring soothing nonsense as she had raised a hand to caress its side.
By the time Aric and the farmer had returned with their ropes and other paraphernalia, Rosamunde was kneeling in the mud, fretting over a nasty gash on the bull's hind leg. It was a bite--the teeth marks had told her that much--and most likely from Jemmy's pup. It seemed the animal had defended himself. Ignoring Aric's dismayed orders for her to get out immediately, Rosamunde had quickly cleaned the wound and smoothed a soothing liniment over it. Straightening then, she had given the bull a reassuring pat. Then she had calmly left the paddock.
Aric had greeted her with a stern expression and escorted her silently back to the stables. There, the lineup of animals awaiting her attention continued. Her husband had remained silent and grim through her treatments, then escorted her back to the keep to sup. He had also sat silently through that. When she had finally left him, several minutes ago, he had appeared to be well into his cups.
Sighing, Rosamunde gave Black a pat, then moved to the bed and quickly removed her gown. She started to remove her shift, too, then paused and sighed. It was a sin to sleep nude. Bishop Shrewsbury had reminded her of the whole list of sins that morning, before Aric had been forced back to the keep by the rain that Lord Spencer's aggravated rheumatism had predicted. The very thought of her conversation with the clergyman made Rosamunde sigh wearily again.
That, of course, was the true source of her tiredness. She was weary of spirit, made miserable by the pleasure she had enjoyed with her husband--and by the fact that she was not supposed to enjoy it. It seemed sister Eustice had been correct about all the dos and do-nots she had listed on her wedding day. Rosamunde had rather been counting on her being wrong about everything. But the bishop had reiterated every single one of the rules Eustice had listed, and even introduced a couple the nun had neglected. The very thought of all the do-nots was enough to make Rosamunde wish to climb into bed and never come out.
Of course, she couldn't do that, but she could go to bed and turn her thoughts off for a little while, at least. And that was what she planned to do. Pulling the linens back, she slid into bed, then drew them back up to her neck. She lay watching the shadows that the fire was casting dance around the room until they lulled her to sleep.
The fire had burned low, and the room and the shadows in it were much darker when she awoke some time later. She had turned onto her side in her sleep, and now lay facing the window that looked out over the courtyard.
Wondering what had awakened her, she let her eyes drift closed again, then blinked them open at a sudden scream from Black. It wasn't a nicker or a whinny. It was a scream, or as close to one as she had ever heard from a horse. And the sound was followed by the sudden thunder of Black's hooves on the wooden floor of the chamber. It sounded as if a herd of horses were charging the bed. Sitting up in alarm, Rosamunde glanced a bit wildly around, her eyes widening as she saw that Aric had entered the room. And Black was attacking him! The horse had charged forward from his place by the fire and was now on his hind legs, pawing wildly at Aric's dark shape. He cried out and swerved to avoid those lethal hooves.
"Blackie!" Rosamunde shouted. She scrambled out of the bed and rushed around toward where the dark shapes of the man and animal danced in the dim light. "Blackie, stop that!"
Reaching the horse just as Aric stumbled and fell, she grabbed desperately at the horse's reins and pulled
hard on them, dragging the animal away before he could trample her husband where he lay. Once she had him a safe distance away, she held the horse steady. She asked anxiously, "Are you all right, husband?"
Without answering her, he merely stumbled to the door, tugged it open, and hurried out.
Sighing, Rosamunde turned away from the open door to peer at Blackie. The horse was breathing hard and shaking slightly. His continuous fever over the past few days had weakened him, and this incident had apparently taken a great deal of his remaining strength. Which was another reason that his behavior bewildered her. Keeping his reins firmly in hand, she moved around him to grab another log from the basket and toss it onto the dying embers in the fireplace. A second log followed it; then she picked up the iron that lay beside the basket. She quickly poked and prodded the logs around in the fire. Replacing the iron, she turned back toward Black, but paused at the sound of heavy footsteps pounding through the hall.
"Rosamunde?"
"Aric?" she answered, confused by the fact that he sounded quite worried rather than furious. She had expected him to be angry at his horse's betrayal. Rosamunde took a couple of careful steps through the darkness toward the door, only to pause when two dark shapes suddenly appeared in the archway.
"Are you all right?" They both asked at once; then silence briefly filled the room. The first shadow made its way to the table, collected something from it, then moved to her side by the fire. Aric: His worry was illuminated for her as he bent to light a candle from the first of the weak flames beginning to lick at the logs she had added to the fire. Then he straightened and turned to peer at her, his gaze taking in the fact that she wore only her shift.
"What happened?"
Rosamunde blinked at the question. "I was about to ask you the same question. Why did Blackie attack you?"
"What is going on?"
Aric and Rosamunde glanced toward the door at that question, but it was not Robert who had spoken. He stepped quickly out of the way to reveal Aric's father in a nightshirt, a candle in his hand. Its light added to the growing illumination of the room.
When Aric scowled from his scantily clad wife to the men peering curiously into the room, then moved to retrieve her dress for her from the end of the bed, Robert took it upon himself to answer. Shrugging in bewilderment as Bishop Shrewsbury and the servant Joseph appeared behind Lord Burkhart, he murmured, "We were sitting downstairs and heard a scuffle up here. It sounded like thunder. Black was screaming, and Rosamunde screamed, and we hurried up here to see what was going on!"
They all turned to peer at Rosamunde. Aric dropped the gown over her. Quickly finding the hole for her head, Rosamunde pulled it down over herself and turned on her husband with alarm. "You were still at the table? You mean it was not you Blackie attacked?"
"Why would my own horse attack me?" Aric asked irritably, tugging and fretting at the material of her gown until it covered her to her ankles, hiding her luscious legs from view. Then he stiffened. The meaning behind her words sank in. "Are you saying there was someone else in here?"
"Aye." Rosamunde struggled to get her arms through the holes meant for them. Aric had simply pulled the gown down to cover her without allowing her the time to don it properly. "I was asleep. Something woke me. I heard Blackie charge across the room; then he started screeching and--" Getting one arm free and into its sleeve, she gestured toward the side of the bed nearest the door. "There was someone beside the bed and Blackie was attacking him. I thought it was you."
"Why did you think it was Aric? Did the fellow look like him?" Lord Burkhart asked curiously. Rosamunde paused in her efforts to find the other sleeve, and blinked in surprise.
"Well...I am not sure. It was quite dark. I--I just assumed." She shrugged helplessly, then returned to trying to free her arm from its trapped position inside the gown. "Who else would be in our chamber?"
"More to the point, what were they doing here?" Robert asked, giving Aric a meaningful look.
"Did you see anyone in the hall as you approached the room?" Bishop Shrewsbury asked, stepping past Lord Burkhart and glancing around the chamber curiously. Rosamunde finally freed her other arm to slip it through its sleeve. When the cleric's gaze widened slightly as it fell on Black, Rosamunde thought that it must be because he was surprised by the horse's presence in the room, but then the gentleman cleared his throat and gestured. "It appears your horse is relieving himself on the--"
The rest of the bishop's comment was drowned out by Aric's curse and Rosamunde's gasp. But her reaction wasn't to what he was doing, but because her gaze had landed on and stopped at the horse's chest. Blood was running from a wound there.
"He is hurt," she cried, hurrying over to the beast to examine him anxiously. "Aric, fetch me my bag, please. It is in the chest in the corner."
When he moved to her side instead, to examine the wound with as much interest as she did, she glanced around to see that Robert was moving to retrieve her medicinals.
"It is a knife wound," Aric announced grimly as his friend approached. Robert gave Rosamunde her bag.
"And there is the knife."
Glancing over her shoulder at Lord Burkhart's words, Rosamunde saw the bishop straighten beside the bed, a bloodstained knife in hand. Aric moved to join him as the older man picked off some of the rushes sticking to it. Once he had the worst of them off, Shrewsbury handed the knife over. Rosamunde scowled at the sight of the weapon, then turned her attention back to the horse. Let the men worry about that. She had to mend Blackie.
Aric met Shambley's gaze as the other man joined them by the bed. They all peered at the wickedly sharp dagger for a moment, then turned to peer at Rosamunde as she fussed over the horse.
"Black saved her life," Robert murmured quietly as Lord Burkhart and Joseph stepped nearer.
"Aye." Aric nodded solemnly.
"Oh, but surely you cannot think that someone came in here deliberately to hurt her?" Bishop Shrewsbury asked anxiously. "Who would wish to harm Lady Rosamunde?"
"The one Henry feared?" Lord Burkhart suggested grimly, drawing Aric's surprised glance.
"You know about that?" He hadn't had the chance to tell his father that yet.
"Robert explained it to me after the messenger arrived. 'Tis why he accompanied me here."
"Oh, aye." Aric frowned. "This could be the kind of thing Henry was worried about. I do not know. I wish he had told me more about..." Pausing, he glanced at the bishop sharply. "You had his ear. Why was he worried about Rosamunde? Who did he hope I could protect her from if he died?"
The old man shook his head in confusion. "I do not know. He spoke of no peril that I recall."
Aric frowned slightly, his gaze moving back to his wife as she bandaged Black's wound. It wasn't deep. He had seen that much when he had looked, but that reassured him little. No doubt it would have been deeper--and most likely deadly--for Rosamunde. He did not doubt for a moment that the horse had saved her life. But from whom? And why?
"What are you going to do?" Shambley asked as Aric continued merely to stare unhappily at his wife.
Glancing around in surprise, as if he had momentarily forgotten the presence of the other men, Aric grimaced. "I shall have the soldiers at the gate doubled, restrict all comings and goings, and keep her guarded until we find out who was behind this--and what his intent was. It is all I can do for now. That and ask if any strangers were seen today or tonight." He frowned suddenly. "No one came down or went up the stairs after Rosamunde retired. From whence did her attacker come and go?"
"The only empty room up here would have been mine," Robert muttered, following his thoughts, then shook his head. "But the hallway is quite dim, pitch-black in some spots even. Perhaps he had been waiting in the hall for her to come above and retire, and hid there again after leaving."
"We may have rushed right by him," Aric realized with dismay, then clenched his hand on the knife handle. He started toward the door, only to be stopped by his father's touch on his arm.
"Aye, I shall do that now. I shall also send a servant to remove the rushes Black fouled." He said it with a grimace, and started to move away again, only to pause and glance uncertainly toward his wife.
"Shambley and I shall stay with her while you tend to that," Lord Burkhart assured him, reading his son's reluctance to leave her alone.
Muttering his thanks, Aric hurried out of the room.
"Well, I am sure Lady Rosamunde is safe with the two of you here to watch her, so I think I shall take my old bones back to bed," Shrewsbury announced with a sigh, then glanced at Joseph. "Will you walk with me? I am sure Lord Spencer is awaiting a report of this excitement."
"Yes, my lord." Joseph accompanied the old man from the room as Shambley and Lord Burkhart moved to join Rosamunde.
"How is he?"
Rosamunde glanced around with a start at Robert's voice, then sighed slightly. "The wound was not deep, but I worry about its effect when Black was so weakened by illness already."
"Hmmmmm," Lord Burkhart mused, reaching out to pat the horse affectionately. "Black is a strong one. I gave him to Aric when he earned his spurs. He has seen worse wounds than this and come through. He will recover quickly from this scratch."
"Aye, my lord," Rosamunde murmured, but she wasn't as confident. She continued to fuss over the beast even as a servant arrived to tend to the mess on the floor. She was still fussing over Black when Aric returned. Lord Burkhart and Robert said their good nights.