The More I See You

by Lynn Kurland

  A bit like what she was doing to him.

  He winced as he climbed the stairs. The thought was enough to send him scampering out the gates never to come back.

  Kendrick was waiting outside the chamber door, blankets in hand. Richard ignored him as he went inside and fetched two cloaks. Kendrick was still waiting once he was finished. The man looked ready to talk. Richard sighed heavily.

  “What, dolt?”

  “You love her very much, don’t you?”

  Richard couldn’t have been taken more off guard if Kendrick had plowed his fist into his belly.

  “By the saints, nay,” he gasped.

  “Then you won’t mind if I kiss her this afternoon—”

  “Do and your life ends,” Richard growled.

  Kendrick’s eyes twinkled merrily. “Pitiful, de Galtres. Truly pitiful.”

  “I do not love her,” Richard said curtly. Oh, that was all he needed—for Kendrick to spread that tale from one end of the isle to the other.

  Kendrick sobered instantly. “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Then, for pity’s sake, say nothing of it,” Kendrick said in a low voice, “for she, my friend, loves you dearly. So much, I vow, that it pains me to watch the way you treat her.”

  “Treat her? What’s amiss with how I treat her?”

  “Have you ever smiled at her?”

  Richard was silent.

  “Given her a kind word?”

  “Several.”

  “I doubt it. That isn’t how you keep a woman, Richard.”

  “I don’t care about keeping her,” Richard said, but he knew it was a lie.

  “Then let her go.”

  Richard looked heavenward, but found absolutely nothing to say.

  “Be good to her, Richard.”

  “Or you will?” Richard demanded.

  Kendrick shook his head with a smile. “Why bother? She can’t see me for you. I envy you.”

  “Don’t,” Richard said shortly. “There’s naught to envy.”

  Kendrick fell silent and they descended the stairs together. Jessica was standing at the bottom with a basket in her hands. Her face was white. Richard felt his heart sink like a rock. Had she heard their conversation?

  Had she heard his lies?

  God’s truth, he loved her. It frightened him witless, but he couldn’t deny it. He took the basket from her, set it down, and tried to put a cloak around her shoulders.

  “I think I’d better stay,” she said crisply. “You two go on.”

  “Now, why would I want to go with sour-faced Richard?” Kendrick asked brightly. “Especially when I could gaze upon the most beautiful woman Edmonds has ever produced?”

  Richard caught Kendrick’s look over Jessica’s head and he flinched at the fury in it. Kendrick very rarely lost his temper but Richard suspected he was on the verge of it. He looked back helplessly. How could he possibly apologize for something Jessica never should have heard? She wouldn’t believe him anyway.

  “Richard,” Kendrick said carefully, “take Jessica’s hand and let us go. I’ll catch up after I’ve seen to a guard, aye?”

  Jessica’s hands were firmly clasped in front of her. Richard shot Kendrick a pleading look.

  “Very well,” Kendrick announced, “I’ll take Jessica’s hand and you see to the guard. Come, Jessica. I’ve a mind to see this shore of Richard’s. I daresay we might find a shell or two, think you?”

  Richard watched them go, saw the stiffness in Jessica’s shoulders, and thought he just might weep. Sweet Mary, he would never win her. And if he won her, he’d never hold her. He would say aught amiss, hurt her feelings as he had that day, then she would leave him. Her heart would be broken and his would be shattered.

  “Richard,” Kendrick bellowed, “make haste!”

  Richard made haste because he’d been told to and he couldn’t seem to think for himself. He caught up with Kendrick and Jessica soon enough and followed them around the outer wall and down to the shore.

  It wasn’t a bad place, as far as strands went. The shore near the keep was too rocky for any but the most bold with heavy boots, but there was a fine bit of sand farther north. Kendrick spread out the blankets, set the basket down, and went in search of wood. It was cold. Richard tried to put a cloak around Jessica’s shoulders but she shook it off.

  “Jessica,” he said helplessly.

  She said nothing.

  He realized in that moment that silence was his usual response. No wonder she became so irritated by it.

  Kendrick built a fire. Richard tried to eat but found his appetite had gone the way of his lady’s affection, if she’d ever felt it at first.

  “Jessica?” he called softly, trying to get her to look at him.

  She did.

  He wished she hadn’t.

  The hurt in her eyes made his own eyes burn. He started to reach out to her, but she moved aside, then crawled to her feet. She walked down the shore and Richard rose to go after her. Kendrick’s hand on his ankle stopped him.

  “You hurt her, you fool,” Kendrick accused.

  “How do I apologize?”

  “Try, ‘I’m sorry. Forgive me.’ It has been known to work wonders.”

  “She’ll never believe me now.”

  “And you want her to?”

  “Of course I want her to, idiot!”

  Kendrick released his ankle and smiled smugly. “I knew you loved her.”

  “A fat bloody lot of good it does me now!” Richard thundered. “Thanks to you, you blabbering fool!”

  “Go to hell, de Galtres.”

  “Not if you’ll be there, de Piaget!”

  Richard grunted as he soon found himself with Kendrick’s head in his stomach. They both went down to the sand. Richard was furious but he’d forgotten that Kendrick was two years his senior and had also grown up at Artane, where wrestling was as much a part of the daily fare as ale. And the Artane lads weren’t shy about throwing their fists.

  Richard managed to save his teeth, but his nose felt like it was broken and he couldn’t see out of one eye after a few minutes. He rolled off Kendrick after delivering a final blow to the belly, then groaned when the blood draining down his throat made him cough. He sat up and spat.

  “Saints, Kendrick, you didn’t have to ruin my sweet visage while you were at it.”

  “Yours?” Kendrick choked. “I’m to be wed in less than a fortnight!”

  “Leave tomorrow and go up to Artane. Your mother will tend your wounds well enough. I’ve no one to tend mine.”

  “Perhaps Jessica will pity you now that you’re so ugly.”

  Richard shook his head. “Don’t start with me. Once a day is enough to listen to your foolishness.” He sat up and pulled off his overtunic. He mopped his face with a bit of wine and winced at the pressure on his nose.

  “’Tisn’t broken,” Kendrick observed. “Should be, though. I must be going soft.”

  Richard scowled as best he could with a split lip, then rose. “Tend the fire. I’ll return. I hope,” he muttered as he walked away.

  Jessica was a goodly distance down the way. He followed her, feeling his palms begin to sweat and his heart hammer against his ribs. Why had he allowed this perverse wench to become so important to him? He should have cast her from his hall immediately.

  Nay, even that wouldn’t have been soon enough. He should have let her steal Horse. Never in his life had he lost his seat, not to mention to a woman, yet she’d shoved him off Horse’s rump and been off without a backward glance. That should have been an omen. Trouble ahead, all sensible men turn tail and flee.

  He came up behind her quietly. He thought he might have heard a sniff or two, but he could have been imagining that. He put his hands on her shoulders.

  “Jessica,” he began.

  “Just leave me alone!”

  He turned her around. That she only hesitated briefly before she allowed it was a very good sign, to his mind. He pulled her close, then ra
n his blood-caked hand over her hair as gently as he knew how. She liked that. He would have walked from Hadrian’s wall to London on his hands if she’d liked that, too. Saints, what a fool love made of a normally sane man.

  He rested his bruised cheek against her hair. “Jess,” he whispered, “it was talk you shouldn’t have heard.” She tried to pull away, but he tightened his arms around her. “I said things I didn’t mean.”

  “You creep, then you don’t care about me at all!”

  “I care,” he said, forcing the words from between suddenly parched lips. He was so terrified, he was shaking. If she turned and walked away now, he wasn’t sure he would survive.

  Jessica pulled back slowly and looked up at him. She gasped the moment she saw his face. Then her eyes blazed.

  “That jerk! I’ll get him for this—”

  Richard hardly had the wits to catch her before she stormed off to avenge his abused honor. He clasped his hands behind her back and looked down at her seriously. He couldn’t say any more. Saying what he had had cost him more than she’d ever know.

  She knew. He could see it in her eyes. They gentled, then filled with tears. He shook his head quickly, but a tear fell just the same. He bent his head and kissed it away.

  “Please,” he whispered hoarsely. “Please, Jessica.”

  She put her arms around his waist and laid her head against his chest.

  “Let’s go home,” she said quietly. “I’ll take care of you there.”

  “I’m well enough.”

  “You don’t look so great.”

  His cracked lips twitched and that made him wince. “I don’t want to ruin your pleasure in the day.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I’ll have just as much fun killing Kendrick at home as I will here.”

  Richard chuckled. Jessica pulled back instantly, an expression of astonishment on her face.

  “Did you just laugh?”

  “It was a cough.”

  “You liar. I’m going to tell Kendrick that I heard it first.” She pulled away. “Come on, I’ll race you.”

  She was smiling at him again. Richard could hardly believe that appeasing her was done that simply, but he wasn’t going to argue the point. He ran with her, slowing his pace to hers. He lifted one eyebrow as they ran, letting her know he was humoring her.

  She tripped him.

  She didn’t stop to help him up. Richard struggled to his feet, cursing her heartily. He arrived at the blanket in time to watch her hit Kendrick in the stomach. His friend doubled over with a cough and went down, pleading for mercy. Jessica shook out her hand, hopping up and down and howling.

  Had she called this an afternoon of leisure?

  By sunset Richard was enamored of the practice. He couldn’t have smiled if he’d wanted to due to his abused lips, but he thought he might have felt his eyes twinkling. For the first time since Kendrick’s arrival Richard was able to relax and enjoy his friend’s fine jesting. And he enjoyed lying with his head in Jessica’s lap and feeling her comb his hair with her fingers. He’d tried to return the favor but she’d shaken her head, telling him that the next time would be his turn. That there would be a next time encouraged him greatly.

  The smell of the ocean soothed him, Jessica’s touch pleased him, and an afternoon of companionship with his lady and his dearest friend warmed his heart. Aye, they would do it again. Kendrick would leave his sorceress bride at home and come again, perhaps in the spring, when the weather was fine.

  By the time they left the shore, Richard was holding Jessica’s hand in his as if he’d been doing it all his days. The naturalness of it made him nervous when he thought about it too long, so he stopped thinking about it. He liked the way her fingers felt, laced between his. His ghosts be damned; he’d hold her hand and enjoy it.

  Jessica tended Kendrick’s hurts before the fire and Richard only had to unclench his fists two or three times. And then his turn came. He sat down on the floor and Jessica fussed over him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had done the like. It had probably been at Artane years ago. Somehow, Lady Anne’s touch hadn’t pleased him as Jessica’s did.

  When she pulled away, he opened his eyes to beg her not to cease, then realized there was nothing left to do. He caught her by the hand and pulled her close, not caring that Kendrick sat behind him and was likely on the verge of laughing. He very carefully pressed his lips against hers.

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re extremely welcome.”

  He put her to bed soon after, then returned to the fire and sat across from Kendrick. Now that his own life was so perfectly in order, he couldn’t help but try to do the same for Kendrick.

  “I don’t like the rumors,” he said bluntly.

  Kendrick pursed his lips, but said nothing.

  “They say she is a witch, Kendrick.”

  “I don’t believe in witches.”

  “She’s cursed others, with dire results.”

  “I don’t believe in curses.”

  Richard sighed gustily. “You’re making a mistake, my friend. I think you should go home and give it more thought.”

  “Artane, in case you’ve forgotten,” Kendrick said, beginning to sound slightly annoyed, “is to the north of Seakirk. Why would I want to go home just to backtrack?”

  “Your mother will want to see you,” Richard insisted.

  “She and my father intend to meet me at Seakirk in a month’s time. Besides, I promised Royce I would meet him at the abbey within the fortnight.”

  Richard pursed his lips. “And you’d best do that before he robs the entire feminine population of the countryside of its virtue.” Kendrick’s captain was even more successful at womanizing than Kendrick.

  “My thoughts as well,” Kendrick agreed with a smile. “Perhaps once I’m settled, he will think about a home and hearth for himself.”

  “Another reason for fathers of eligible maids to rejoice,” Richard said dryly. “Perhaps you should take him north and see if your mother cannot find him a bride.”

  Kendrick sighed patiently. “I’m going to Seakirk, Richard. I need to introduce myself to my bride and my people. It makes no sense not to then stay until the wedding to make sure all goes well.”

  “I don’t like her.” Richard knew he was pushing, but he couldn’t help it.

  “So you’ve said,” Kendrick replied, a slight edge to his voice. “I think I might come to be fond of her.”

  “And if you don’t?”

  “Richard, when has affection ever entered into a marriage contract? I’m wedding her for her keep. If there is affection, fine. If not, I’ll look elsewhere.”

  “Have you forgotten how much your sire and dam adore each other? And what of your grandparents? Saints, even your uncles and aunts managed to find mates they were somewhat fond of!”

  “I’m not as fortunate. And, since Jessica isn’t a choice, I’ll resign myself to Matilda.”

  “I’ll say no more,” Richard said heavily.

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “Saints, Kendrick, it’s just—”

  “Richard,” Kendrick interrupted, holding up his hand, “I know.” He smiled gravely. “I know. You love me dearly and you want the best for me. You’re very sweet. Now be you silent and let me live my life as I see fit. I daresay I’m old enough to do the like.”

  Richard sighed. Kendrick was right. There was nothing more he could do to dissuade his friend, nor perhaps was there truly any good reason to. Perhaps ’twas all merely rumor that followed Matilda like an ill wind. For all Richard knew, Kendrick would wed with the woman and be perfectly happy. Or he would wed with her and find happiness somewhere else. Kendrick had warriors enough in his company. Royce of Canfield was a fierce fighter. Kendrick’s Saracen warrior Nazir struck fear into the heart of any normal man.

  But Matilda was a woman and a witch as well. Richard suspected there was little to frighten such a one as she when she had her black arts to protect her.

&nb
sp; But as Kendrick said, it was his choice. Richard could not make it for him.

  But, by the saints, he wished he could.

  23

  Hugh stood in the shadows of the outer barbican and watched the souls entering and leaving the keep. He’d done a fair amount of charm casting that morn, spat until his mouth was dry, and searched his person for the talisman he was sure he’d put in his hose for safekeeping. He hadn’t found it, and he sincerely hoped that would not be what drove his plans awry.

  For added luck, he made the signs of a few wards of his own invention, then looked up and blinked in surprise. Who should be coming his way but Richard’s squire, Gilbert de Claire.

  Perhaps he would have his success after all.

  “Gilbert,” he said, waving the boy over.

  The boy looked startled, then his mouth returned to the pout he’d worn on his way out of the gates. “Aye?”

  “A word, my lad, if you will.”

  Gilbert looked unsure. Hugh summoned up what patience he had left—and that wasn’t much. The wine he’d filched from the ruffians was gone. His head pained him nigh onto death and his poor form had been abused greatly by his fear of Richard’s possible bespelling. He needed to take action soon and he could only hope this sour-looking child might be persuaded to aid him. He’d used his ears to their best advantage the past fortnight and heard tales of Richard’s unwilling squire. The lad apparently pined for a place in a monastery. Gilbert would need money to see that desire realized.

  Hugh brushed the purse at his belt with his hand. Never mind that the few coins were supplemented by several carefully chosen pebbles. A lad with as few wits as Gilbert displayed couldn’t fail to be impressed by the noise, even if he never saw the goods in truth.

  “Aye?” Gilbert said, sounding slightly more interested.

  “Not here.”

  Gilbert eyed the purse again, then nodded.

  Hugh drew him into the shadows of the outer wall. “How like you your master?” he asked.

  Gilbert looked as if he had a horrible itch he simply could not reach.