by Lynsay Sands
Glancing down at his chest to see that what she said was true, Aric grimaced, but kept any further protest to himself, allowing her to ease him onto a good-size boulder on the bank.
"Just think how nice it shall be to get rid of all that nasty old..." She wrinkled her nose in lieu of giving a name to the stuff presently dribbling from his chin, and bent to remove his sword belt. Unsheathing the weapon, she leaned it against the rock beside him, easily available should it be needed, then began to work on his tunic. "You shall feel much better once you are cleaned up."
"You are speaking to me in the exact same tones--and using nearly the exact same words--as you did with that dog when you tried to convince him that a bath was for the best," he pointed out irritably.
"Am I?" she asked distractedly as she lifted his tunic off over his head. "Well, I trust you shall not make as much fuss as Summer did when I gave her her bath." She stressed the dog's name and sex, since he seemed to have already forgotten her telling him both. Tossing the tunic on the ground, she then reached for his brais, but Aric caught her hands and held them with a sigh.
"I can do that myself, if you would just give me the room to stand."
"As you wish, my lord." Stepping back, she gave him the room he requested, holding her tongue and merely watching anxiously as he got to his feet. He swayed like a branch in a breeze as he began to push the brais down over his hips. He managed to get them a third of the way down, but when he had to bend over to push them further, he swayed dangerously and nearly toppled over.
Catching his shoulders, Rosamunde urged him back to a standing position, then knelt to remove the brais herself, doing her best to keep from peering at his manhood as she did. It was a difficult task, since it was right in her face, and even now growing in size. It seemed he had not been injured terribly after all, she decided with amusement. She helped him step out of the damp pants, then tossed them onto his tunic.
"There we are, then," she said happily and, straightening, stepped to the side. "In you go. A nice soaking and you shall feel much better."
"Do you have to be so damn cheerful?" he grumbled, taking a slow, careful step past her.
"Nay, my lord. But 'tis better than being so darned grumpy that someone would wish me dead," she muttered.
His head swiveling, he glared at her furiously. "What did you say?"
"Me?" she asked innocently. "I believe I said that that bump you took must have given you a sore head."
He glared at her suspiciously for a moment, then turned to continue making his way into the water, ignoring her until he was neck-deep. At that point he turned toward her, saying, "I--What the devil are you doing?"
Glancing up from the sword she had been inspecting--his sword--she raised her eyebrows slightly, but answered, "Guarding you, my lord."
"Put that damn thing down before you cut yourself. I do not need guarding."
"That bump on your head would seem to indicate differently, husband," Rosamunde murmured, ignoring his order to set the sword aside.
"Which one? The one the unknown culprit gave me, or the dozen or so you and Shambley added while 'rescuing' me?"
Rosamunde peered at him silently for a moment, then slowly began to nod her head.
"What are you thinking?" he asked suspiciously.
"Just that it is most definitely you that our enemy must be after."
His gaze narrowed. "Why?"
"Well." She shrugged simply. "I am nice and polite to all I meet."
Aric blinked at that. "What? And I am not?"
Her expression spoke volumes, and Aric found himself somewhat hurt by her poor opinion of him. "I have a sore head," he reminded her by way of excuse. She nodded solemnly.
"You must have one every morning, then."
"Aye. Though not the same head," Aric muttered, splashing irritably at the water surrounding him.
"What was that?" Rosamunde called from shore.
"Nothing," he snapped, then sighed and concentrated on cleaning himself.
They were both silent for a while; then Rosamunde asked, "Do you suppose we shall come across your father on our way to London?"
"Nay," Aric answered. His father had returned home to Burkhart the day after the messenger's arrival. He, too, was expected to be present for Richard's coronation, and had headed home to make the necessary preparations. He also had to collect his eldest son and daughters for the journey.
"We shall meet up with them in London though, will we not?"
"No doubt."
"What are your sisters like?"
Aric shrugged at the question. "They are sisters."
Rosamunde smiled wryly at his answer, then announced, "If they are anything like your father, I will like them."
"You like my father, do you?"
"Oh, aye, he reminds me of the abbess. She was very like him: soft-spoken and gentle, with a streak of craftiness about her, but, Lord, beware her temper. Does your father have a temper?"
"Aye," he said, then peered at her a bit curiously. How had she picked up so much about his father during a visit when the two had hardly seemed to speak more than exchanging pleasantries? "So he reminds you of the abbess," he murmured, thinking he could not wait to tell his father that. He suspected the man wouldn't take kindly to being compared to a woman, no matter her position. "Does Shambley remind you of anyone?"
"Aye." She nodded slowly. "Sister Constance. She was one of the younger nuns, and she had the same sort of devilish sense of humor Lord Shambley does."
"Sister Constance." Aric grinned. "And what of the others?"
"The others, my lord?"
"Aye. Like Smithy, for instance."
"Oh, well, Smithy is easy. He is very like Sister Eustice. Not as knowledgeable as her, perhaps, but he has the same gentleness and way with animals."
"And what about me?" he asked, starting slowly toward shore.
Rosamunde blinked at him uncertainly. "You?"
"Aye. Do I remind you of one of the nuns from the abbey?"
"Oh, nay, my lord."
"Nay?" His eyebrows rose slightly at the emphatic way she said it, and he paused in the water. "No one?"
Making a face, she shook her head. "Well, how could you? You are my husband."
"So?"
"So you are a man."
Aric gave a bewildered laugh at that. "So are my father and Smithy."
"Oh, aye. Well, I suppose they are," she said doubtfully as he started forward again. She rushed on. "But I do not think of them as such. I mean, I know that they are men, of course, but I do not really think of them as men. They are just...well...people," she said helplessly.
Aric stared at her with sudden fascination, positive he needed to hear this. "You lump the abbess, my father, Smithy, Shambley, and the other men and women you know in one big category: people? Yet you think of me as a man," he clarified slowly.
"Not just any man, but my husband. The man."
"The man," he echoed.
Flushing, she nodded.
"And what separates me from being one of the 'people'?" he asked curiously. His eyebrows rose when her gaze dropped abruptly to what was revealed now that he stood only knee-deep in the water.
"Well, all men have that," he snapped irritably.
Her nose immediately lifted in the air as she hopped off the boulder. "Not as far as I am concerned, my lord. For all I know, half the nuns in the abbey may have had one, but yours is the only one I am concerned with. Because it is mine."
Aric gave a start at that. "Yours?"
"Well, of course it is," she told him impatiently. "I don't know why it should surprise you. You gave yourself to me in marriage and I to you. Everything of yours is mine and vice versa--and that includes that. And let me tell you, my lord," she added with a hard look, her eyes narrowed. "I am not so naive that I have not heard of adultery. And while I am very forbearing in a lot of things, should I ever get wind that you are sharing my 'that' with anyone else, I shall surely cut it off and mount it on the m
antel."
"Here we are!" Shambley breezed cheerfully into the clearing. "Fresh clothes for both of you."
"I shall change in my tent," Rosamunde snapped, snatching the gown he held out and stomping past him. "I trust you will keep an eye on my husband and be sure he is safe."
"Of course," Robert agreed, staring after her rather blankly. She marched off back toward camp. "Well, did I interrupt at a bad moment?"
"Hmmm?" Aric glanced toward his friend, distracted, then began to grin like an idiot. He stepped out of the water. "Nay, nay. She thinks of you as a 'people.'"
"Oh." His friend blinked. "Well, that is good. I guess."
"Aye. And she thinks of me as the man."
"And so you are a man," Shambley murmured, wondering what the hell his friend was jabbering on about.
"And she wants to mount my manhood on the mantel," Aric announced happily, taking the brais Robert held and tugging them quickly on.
That made Shambley pause and blink several times before asking cautiously, "And this is a good thing?"
"Aye. It means she cares about me."
"I see." Shambley nodded slowly. "If you say so. Er...I do not suppose Rosamunde thought to check that head wound of yours...to see what damage may have been done?"
"What?" Aric frowned at him, then scowled as he snatched his tunic from his friend. He began to don it. "There is nothing wrong with my head."
"Of course not," Robert agreed. He followed then, shaking his head as Aric snatched up his sword belt and started back through the trees toward camp.
Chapter Seventeen
Sighing, Rosamunde paced the length of the room she and Aric had been given, and glanced impatiently toward the door.
They had arrived at court the day before, and Rosamunde had been grateful for that at the time. Unfortunately, despite the fact that she had not left his side for a moment after Shambley and Aric had returned to their campsite the day he had nearly drowned, there had been another attack. Not on his person, though. That had not been possible now that they were on the alert. However, the last morning of their journey, their attacker had apparently become desperate and placed a sharp pin under Black's saddle.
The plan had been very clever. So long as there was no weight on the saddle, Black had been fine, but the moment Aric had mounted, the thick pin had stuck the horse, making him buck wildly.
Her husband had been thrown from the saddle. Luckily he had landed on Bishop Shrewsbury, else he might have been killed. Of course, no one had seen anyone strange near the horses, and once again they were unable to determine the culprit.
It had been a great relief to reach court, especially for the bishop. He had knocked his head pretty hard when Aric had landed on him. The poor man hadn't even seen the trouble Aric was in, so had been unprepared for the warrior's weight upon him. The cleric had been quite testy the rest of the journey. Rosamunde suspected his head had been aching. He had retired to his own room as soon as they had arrived, not even leaving it to join them all at the sup.
The memory of the meal last night, her first at court, made Rosamunde again sigh unhappily. What a debacle that had been. Aric had been hailed by someone down the table just as they were being seated. Excusing himself, her husband had moved to speak to the man, leaving Rosamunde alone. She had still been alone a few moments later when a pale-skinned, dark-haired beauty with an apparently permanent expression of disdain on her face had been seated at her side.
Feeling a certain kinship with the other girl, since the two of them had been momentarily abandoned, Rosamunde had foolishly attempted to strike up a conversation with the newcomer. She had quickly regretted it. The woman had taken great delight in looking down her nose at everything about Rosamunde, from her pretty but plain blue gown to her undressed hair. When she had suggested that Rosamunde was in need of a better lady's maid, Rosamunde had blurted that she did not have one. The woman had immediately become even ruder. Rosamunde had been quite relieved when she had finally felt a slight pressure on her shoulder and heard Aric's voice just above her head.
"As you can see, Delia, my wife is beautiful enough that she does not need the artifices some women feel naked without. I hardly think that a maid could improve the beauty God has given her."
Feeling her heart warm and her stomach unclench slightly at her husband's sweet words, Rosamunde had smiled up at him, then turned back to her tormentor. It was only when she saw the way the woman's face had paled, her mouth suddenly as straight and tight as a bowstring, that Rosamunde had recognized the name: Delia. This was the fiancee who had broken his heart, she had realized, watching silently as the other woman rose with a sneer and hurried away.
"I apologize," Aric had murmured, settling himself beside her. Rosamunde had glanced at him in surprise.
"For what, my lord? That was not your fault."
"Aye, it was," he had assured her quietly. "At least in part. I should have bought you new gowns as you deserve--as, indeed, your father instructed me to. And I should have thought of a lady's maid." He had shaken his head in self-disgust. "I have two sisters. I do not know how your lack slipped my attention."
"I do not want a lady's maid," Rosamunde had assured him quietly. "I have never had one and have no wish for one now. And had you bought those gowns, I am sure she would have simply criticized them as well. She seems a very bitter and unpleasant person. I think she takes pleasure in hurting people."
"Aye." He had smiled at that. "And you saw that after only a matter of moments.... I have known her all my life, and yet did not see it until I learned to love you."
When Rosamunde had smiled at him then, squeezing his hand gently, a dissatisfied frown started to tug at his lips. "I just said I love you, wife. Are you not the least surprised? Have you nothing to say to that?"
Rosamunde's eyebrows had risen slightly at his irritation. "But I already knew you loved me, my lord. Why would I be surprised?"
"You knew?" He had scowled, a muscle beginning to twitch in his cheek. "How could you have known? I did not even know until I said it."
"Why, I knew the moment you stopped acting so jealous all the time, after the incident by the river. You no longer grumble at anyone who smiles at me, or--"
"You knew I loved you because I stopped being jealous?" He'd gaped at her reasoning, but Rosamunde nodded, for she'd realized it was true.
"Of course. It meant that you had come to trust me, my lord. And trusting me was the last hurdle you needed to overcome. You already liked me, desired me, valued my abilities, and wanted me near you. Trust was the last item needed."
When he'd began to shake his head in a sort of bewildered uncertainty, she had pressed a hand to his cheek in a soft caress. "And I recognized that because I had come to love you, too."
Relaxing then, he had covered her hand with his own and smiled. "Your father was a very wise man."
"Aye," she had agreed, tears pooling in her eyes. "He gave me a wonderful gift in you."
"Nay,..." Pausing as he was jostled by someone seating himself nearby, Aric had glanced around with irritation. "Are you really very hungry?"
"Only for my husband," she had whispered huskily.
Squeezing her hand, Aric had smiled widely, then stood, taking her with him as they departed the table. Once in their room, there had been no more need for words. They had proven with their bodies what had already been said in words, giving of themselves and sharing with a joy that still made her smile. Or would have, were she not so worried.
Sighing, she glanced toward the door again. She had awakened early this morning as was her habit, but whereas she normally would have gone below and puttered about, this morning she had remained abed, watching her husband sleep. She had no intention of leaving him alone and venturing out in this strange castle. So she had watched over him, until looking was just not enough anymore, and she had been unable to stop herself from gently caressing him: his cheek, his throat, his chest. Aric had awakened by the time her hand had dropped lower; then he had s
hown her the many benefits of awaiting his awakening.
One added benefit, oddly enough, was that he seemed to be much less grumpy. That morning, as they had dragged themselves from the bed and moved below to break their fasts, Aric had been the most pleasant of husbands.
But her husband's good cheer had lasted only until after they had eaten. As they were rising to leave the table, Shambley had approached with the news that Richard had granted Aric the audience he had requested and would see him right away. Aric had ordered Rosamunde back to their room.
Rosamunde had left reluctantly, positive that her husband had asked to see Richard in the hope that he might divine whether the prince was involved in the attacks that had occurred first at Goodhall, then on the journey here. Fear had been plaguing her ever since he had left. Now that she was alone, and with nothing to occupy her thoughts, her anxiety had grown. It was not that she feared he would not be careful in broaching the subject, but...she had a superstitious sense that things had been going too well, that she was too happy, and that payment for that happiness was coming due.
Her patience snapping, Rosamunde whirled and headed for the door. She could stand it no longer. She had to find her husband. She would wait outside the audience hall if need be, but orders or no orders, she could not wait alone in their chamber another moment.
"Oh, my lord. There you are."
Aric paused in the hallway outside the royal audience chamber, his eyebrows rising as he watched Bishop Shrewsbury hurry forward. He had just wasted an hour talking to Richard, telling him about the trouble he had had of late, the attacks on Rosamunde and himself, feeling the man out to see if he might be involved somehow. But other than a mild concern, the man had given nothing away.
Now all Aric wanted was to return to his chamber and his wife. He could not wait for this trip to be over so that they could return home. There were too many strangers here. Too much intrigue. He would take Rosamunde home as soon as the coronation was over. There he would look into different ways of ensuring their safety; he would replace every single person at the castle, if need be. Now that he had found happiness with Rosamunde, he had no intention of losing it.
"Thank goodness I got to you in time." The bishop spoke the words barely above a whisper. "I rushed here the moment Shambley told me that you had been granted an audience. You must not see Richard, at least not until I warn you--"