The More I See You

by Lynn Kurland

“I’ve got business with Lord Richard. Where is he?”

  “Bedding down in the kitchen.”

  “With anyone?” she asked sharply.

  Sir Stephen swallowed carefully at the sight of the knife under his nose. “Ah, nay, lady. I think not.”

  “Good. Don’t get in my way, got it?”

  He nodded.

  Jessica encountered nothing but faintly amused smiles the rest of her way and sent each man a look that sobered him instantly. She understood why Richard frowned so much. It was pretty satisfying.

  She borrowed a candle from Cook and got a silent nod in the direction of Richard’s hiding place. She walked back to the tiny room and brushed aside the curtain. She set the candle down on the hay-strewn floor, then took a few rejuvenating breaths before she managed to get herself down to the floor. She used Richard’s stomach as a chair and casually put her knife against his throat. It occurred to her after she’d done it that he could have killed her without thinking, but it was too late now for thinking.

  Richard looked at her, but said nothing.

  “We have to talk,” she stated.

  He was silent.

  “I have plenty to say to you,” she added, “but I’d really like some privacy. We’ll go back upstairs.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “You’ll come, or I’ll slit your throat.”

  He folded his hands behind his head and stared up at her. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Then you want me to say what I have to say with probably half of the kitchen staff listening?”

  He didn’t move.

  “All right,” she said, “I’ll let you have it here.”

  He was seemingly unimpressed by that as well.

  “You were mistaken the other day. I would have told you sooner, but Warren wouldn’t let me out of bed.”

  “How did you escape today so easily?”

  “It’s the first day I didn’t bleed when I tried to get up.”

  He frowned. “I see.”

  “And I finally had the energy to kick Warren in the groin,” she continued. “He probably won’t be fathering any children anytime soon.”

  Richard didn’t react. He simply stared up at her in silence.

  “When you asked me about the betrothal, I was actually happy because I’d been wanting to talk to you about it, too.”

  His jaw tightened.

  “Because I wanted it to be binding,” she said. “I was so surprised that you’d said anything that I couldn’t seem to get my question out. Then you were up and running off and I couldn’t very well screech it down the stairwell.”

  “Why not?”

  “Would you have liked to hear me yell that I love you across your courtyard?”

  “Then everyone would have heard your lies,” he said, shrugging again.

  Jessica came within inches of getting up and walking away. The only thing that kept her there was the twitch along his jaw. He wasn’t nearly as cool as he thought he was. She realized, as she looked at the confusion clouding his eyes, that he must have been deeply hurt by what he perceived to be a rejection.

  She set the knife aside, then carefully knelt in the hay next to him. Her side pulled at her, but she ignored it.

  “Do you have any idea how much I miss my time?” she asked softly. “The things I loved?”

  “Men,” he clarified bitterly.

  “There was no one. But there were things, things that I’ll tell you about one day when we’re old and gray and have nothing better to talk about. My life was there, Richard, everything I felt comfortable with, everything I was.”

  “I see—”

  “But I wouldn’t go back, not even for all the things I love so dearly.”

  He started to speak again, but she put her finger to his lips.

  “You didn’t have anything to say, remember? I’m not through talking.”

  He took his hands from behind his head, pulled off his ring, and handed it to her with a sigh. Jessica smiled as she slipped it on her thumb and curled her thumb into her palm to keep the ring on. Richard was listening. In fact, she suspected that he was very interested in what she had to say.

  “Even if I could go, I wouldn’t,” she said.

  “You aren’t faced with that choice.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Something flared in his eyes suddenly. “Then you found a way?”

  She shook her head. “I haven’t. But,” she added, liking very much the relief she saw in his face, “it wouldn’t have mattered if I had. I wouldn’t leave.”

  “If you say so,” he said doubtfully.

  “Why would I go when everything I love is here?”

  “Who?” he said gruffly. “Hamlet with his charming manners? My poor unmanned brother upstairs? My mother-henning captain?”

  She smiled. “No.”

  “Kendrick?”

  “Not even Kendrick.”

  He was silent for a very long time. Then he looked away. “Whom do you love?” he asked, as if he couldn’t have possibly cared less about the answer.

  “You, of course.”

  He looked back at her then, but said nothing.

  “You’re a wonderful man, Richard. I’m not sorry I had to travel over seven hundred years to find you. And I sincerely hope that betrothal contract was binding, because I have no intention of seeing it broken. And,” she said, reaching for the knife and waving it at him, “you’d better not either. Warren will tell you how dangerous I am when I’m irritated.”

  “The saints forbid I should irritate you.”

  “You’re a very wise man.”

  He reached for her hand.

  “I don’t want the contract broken either,” he said gruffly.

  “You could have fooled me,” she began, but he shook his head sharply.

  “I beg you, Jessica, do not tease me now. This is something I cannot jest about.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “You should be. These have been two nights of misery for me.”

  “Of your own making, remember.”

  He pursed his lips.

  “You jump too quickly to conclusions,” she added.

  “I was convinced I wanted to hear no more of what you had to say.”

  “You were wrong.”

  “Admittedly,” he agreed.

  “Whatever happens, Richard, whatever arguments we have, whatever I say to irritate you—never forget that I love you.”

  He didn’t believe her. She could see that in his eyes. But that would change. His father had abused him. How could he believe she wouldn’t turn on him just as surely?

  Well, he’d learn that she wouldn’t, even if it took her fifty years to prove it to him. She smiled down at him.

  “Can we go back upstairs now? I’m missing my nice, soft bed.”

  “I’ve spoiled you,” he sighed. He rolled up to his feet, stretched, then held down his hand for her. Once she was standing, he gathered up the candle and Warren’s blade, then led her out of the tiny chamber. The candle was soon extinguished and left on Cook’s table. Richard stuck Warren’s knife in his belt, then swung Jessica up into his arms.

  Jessica held on with her good arm and closed her eyes. If only all their problems would be solved this easily.

  Richard stopped in front of the bedroom door. Sir Stephen bowed respectfully.

  “My lord,” he said. “My lady.”

  “I promised to get Warren wine,” Jessica said. “Sir Stephen, if you wouldn’t mind—”

  “Consider it fetched, my lady.”

  “Warren isn’t sleeping in here,” Richard growled.

  “Aw, come on,” Jessica coaxed. “He can sleep on the floor. I really did hurt him, Richard.”

  “One night,” Richard conceded. “No more.”

  When they entered the room, it was to find Warren lying on the floor in front of the fire, looking miserable. Richard nudged his brother with his foot on his way past.

  “Never tangle
with my betrothed, brother.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Warren moaned.

  Richard set Jessica on her feet and took away her cloak. Jessica smiled up at him.

  “Betrothed?”

  “Aye, lady. We’ll have a proper ceremony as well, as soon as I can arrange it. What think you of a journey to France?” he asked casually.

  He’d obviously been thinking about it quite a lot.

  “Aren’t we as good as married now?”

  Richard’s gaze flicked to the bed, then back at her. Jessica blushed in spite of herself.

  “That was part of my question,” she acknowledged.

  “Aye, we’re wed.”

  “Well,” she said, nodding, “that’s good to know.”

  Richard looked at her side, then frowned. “We will wait,” he announced.

  “We will?”

  “Until your side is healed.” He paused. “If that suits.”

  “It might be best,” she agreed.

  “You don’t mind waiting?” he asked.

  “No, I don’t mind.”

  “I don’t either,” Warren said loudly. “And I want a niece, not a nephew.”

  Richard gritted his teeth and put Jessica to bed before he walked away. Jessica heard a yelp, then the sound of a protesting Warren being escorted to the door.

  “Jessica said I could stay—”

  “Jessica is not lord here!”

  The door shut with a slam.

  Jessica smiled as Richard came to sit next to her on the bed. “Maybe it’s just as well to wait.” She patted his hand. “I think you need to be properly courted. Would you prefer flowers, trinkets, or love songs?”

  “I think I’d prefer to avoid all of them.”

  She patted him again. “You give it some thought and let me know tomorrow. Now close your little eyes and get some sleep. I’ll take good care of your heart, you’ll see.”

  He grumbled at her, but crawled into bed soon enough. Then the only sounds in the room were his breathing and hers. Then he spoke.

  “Flowers make me sneeze.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  And with that settled, apparently he was at peace. The next thing Jessica knew, she was awake, with only his snores to keep her company. It would give her plenty of time to come up with something decent to do for him.

  But it didn’t take long for the events of the day to overwhelm her as well. Besides, what did she need with ideas when she lived in the same castle with Sir Hamlet? If anyone would know how to woo Richard, it would be him.

  Jessica closed her eyes and fell asleep smiling.

  29

  Richard loped down the stairs and smiled to himself. The ring would be perfect. He’d lain awake two nights dreaming of it and finally he’d had the privacy to sketch it. Now all he had to do was pray the blacksmith could see it done. Normally, he wouldn’t have trusted a blacksmith with the task, but he knew Edric had once been a goldsmith, and a very fine one, until his eyesight had begun to fail. With enough time, the man would see this task done properly. Richard had never found fault with the blades the man produced.

  He put the leather pouch with the metal, selection of possible jewels, and the sketch behind his back as he entered the courtyard. He was pleased to see everyone back to normal activity. Gilbert had departed yester eve without bloodshed, so that was one worry less pressing upon him. The unknown man was still lurking somewhere outside the gates, though ’twas possible that the man existed only in Gilbert’s mind. Indeed, for all they knew, he’d dreamed up the entire affair and acted on his own.

  Somehow, though, Richard couldn’t credit his squire with that much imagination. The search would continue until Richard was satisfied.

  But for today he would turn his mind to more pleasant things—Jessica, for instance. She was hard at work trying to get the walls put up. He watched her tilt her head back and argue with her chief assistant. Walter was almost as tall as Richard, but not nearly as broad. Even so, a woman should have been intimidated. It was no surprise to see that she wasn’t. He clasped both his hands behind his back and unabashedly eavesdropped.

  “I don’t want the men starting on the apartments yet,” Jessica insisted.

  “But, Lady Jessica, we may as well—”

  “No,” Jessica interrupted. She paused to draw in what looked to be a less-than-comfortable breath, then continued on. “That will mean a dozen men taken away from these walls. There will be a passageway behind the head wall of the great hall. The opening onto the great hall has already been plotted. It isn’t as if we’re going to bloody close it up!”

  Walter winced. “If you say so.”

  “I do. I want these walls up by next week.”

  “But—”

  “Just the walls and the roof before it snows. We’ll work on the masonry inside once the roof is up. I don’t want snow ruining my floor.”

  Walter backed down, backed up and made her a low bow. “As you wish, O great mason.”

  “Flattery will not serve you,” she scolded. Then she turned and immediately she smiled. “Richard.”

  Her smile hit him like a fist in the belly. Richard tried to smile in return, but had the feeling it had come out as more of a grimace. And he’d thought she had him off balance before. Being betrothed to his satisfaction for three days had turned him around so completely that he felt continually dizzy. Her brilliant smile didn’t help.

  The next thing he knew, she’d leaned up on her toes and kissed him full on the mouth. Richard could only stare at her as she dropped back to her heels.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  “Fine,” he managed.

  “You look a little flushed.”

  “I just ran down the stairs.”

  “I see. Well, what do you think of your hall?”

  He’d stepped over one of the walls to come inside. The walls were likely four feet thick, with heavy stones as outer layers and smaller, less useful stones lining the inside. Already the walls were two or three feet high. He nodded approvingly.

  “I think we might be in it before Michaelmas.”

  “Wouldn’t that be nice to have a Yule log and a feast? Could we invite a few jongleurs?”

  “Aye, if it would please you.”

  “You would know more about it than I. What did you used to do?”

  “Here? Nothing at all.” He looked away. “There were fine feasts at Artane, though.”

  She pulled one of his hands from behind his back and squeezed it. “Then we’ll start new traditions. Every married couple does that, you know.”

  “Do they?” He looked down at her.

  “They do,” she said, with a smile. “What’s in your other hand?”

  “A message I need to have sent,” he lied blithely. “I’ll leave you to your work.”

  “Without a kiss?”

  He definitely felt his mouth twitch that time. “You’re baiting me.”

  “And enjoying it very much, thank you.”

  “I haven’t the time for it now,” he said. “I’ve a very important matter to attend to. Perhaps later.”

  “If I’m still in the mood,” she said airily as she walked away.

  Richard watched her go, then turned and crossed the bailey while he still could. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted a woman this badly but he was certain it had been at least a decade ago. Perhaps he’d never felt such agony. All he knew was that sleeping next to her was torture and kissing her only worsened his condition. The only thing that kept him on his side of the bed was that he knew he would hurt her if he made her his.

  She had cried the first time he’d let her look at the wound. It grieved him as well, for it reminded him of how close he’d come to losing her. Not even the fear he’d seen on both Gilbert and his sire’s faces had repaid him for it. He looked behind him quickly to assure himself that his chosen guards were watching over her as they should have been. Aye, there was Stephen lurking in the shadows and Godwin
walking the walls with his loaded crossbow loose in his hands. Half a dozen other lads wandered about, marking their surroundings. Jessica would be safe enough.

  Richard ducked inside the blacksmith’s hut and looked about for its master. Edric was mending a horseshoe, careful and intent as always. Richard waited until the man was finished with his task before he invited him to step outside.

  “Aye, milord?” Edric asked, looking supremely uncomfortable. “Is aught amiss with me work?”

  “Oh,” Richard said, nonplussed, “of course not.”

  Edric’s relief was a visible thing. “Thank ye, milord.”

  Richard shrugged aside his blacksmith’s words. By the saints, it wasn’t as if he’d ever complained before.

  Then he realized that Edric was the one to melt down whatever anyone unearthed from Burwyck-on-the-Sea’s bowels. Well, ’twas no wonder the man was a bit uneasy, given the depth of Richard’s temper he’d seen in the recent past.

  Richard shoved his design at the man. “Here,” he said, hoping to dispel any further words of gratitude or displays of fear. He handed him a pouch as well. “I’ve a lump of gold and a like amount of silver. There are gems as well, but they are all I have.”

  Edric emptied the pouch into his hand and stared down, openmouthed.

  “You’ll tell me if they won’t suit,” Richard added.

  Edric only blinked.

  “How long will it take?”

  Edric looked back at the drawing. Then he looked up at Richard, his watery blue eyes very wide. “You wish”—his voice cracked and he cleared it vigorously—“you wish me to fashion this?”

  “I’ve seen your work, old man,” Richard said briskly. “And this isn’t an insignificant task below your art. This is my bride’s ring we speak of.”

  “But, milord,” Edric stammered, “me eyes—”

  Richard waved away the man’s protests. “I’ve yet to see you deliver anything that wasn’t perfect. The work is small, I’ll grant you that, but your skill is matchless. Now, I ask you again: when will it be finished?”

  Edric drew himself up and peered down at the drawing. Richard cursed Jessica silently. Now he was wanting to weep over an old man’s resurgence of pride and ’twas all her doing, damn her. Richard ignored the sting in his eyes and watched his blacksmith study the design.