by Lynn Kurland
“It can be done,” Edric announced. He looked over the gems and dismissed a pair of stones. “These are too large for a ring.”
“Then keep them and fashion her something else.”
Edric considered. “Perhaps a dagger for her.”
“Aye, that would do.”
“Her eyes are green,” Edric said, fingering an emerald.
How the old man knew the color of Jessica’s eyes, Richard couldn’t imagine, but, again, he wasn’t surprised. The woman knew each of his men by name and was forever interrupting her work to hold court with a few village brats. If he weren’t careful, she’d be making forays into the village soon.
Edric held up another smaller stone, a pale green one that reminded Richard of water he’d once seen near Greece. “Aye”—he nodded—“this is the one.” He looked over the other gems and picked up another rather large emerald. “I’ll keep this, too. Your lady has a use for it.”
“She does?”
Edric gave him a thinly-toothed grin. “Aye, my lord, she does. Though finding a gem to suit had been a problem.”
“Happy to have solved it,” Richard grumbled.
“A spirited gel, that one,” Edric said with a nod. “Knows just what she wants.”
Richard grunted in agreement.
Edric frowned suddenly. “Finger size?”
“I haven’t any idea.”
“Then leave it to me.”
“I don’t want her knowing about the ring.”
“I’ll have her squeeze a bit of clay so I can judge the hilt length of her dagger. I can figure the size from that.”
“You, old man, are a master.”
Edric handed Richard the rest of his treasure, then turned and went back into his hut, a spring in his step that had been missing before. Richard put the remainder of his gems back into the pouch and let himself try on his good deed for size. It was uncomfortable, aye, but not as poor a fit as it might have been two months ago.
By the saints, what a work Jessica had wrought upon him.
He sighed deeply, then started across the courtyard. He would take his leave of his lady then see if he couldn’t find his balance again in the lists. Too much chivalry was surely not good for a body.
He hadn’t gone five paces when he was accosted by Sir Hamlet. Well, at least the man wasn’t pulling half the garrison away from their duties to teach them to dance. There was no telling what Hamlet wanted of him, but Richard prayed it had to do with swords and horses.
“My lord.”
“Sir Hamlet.”
Hamlet folded his arms over his chest and stroked his chin with a battle-scarred hand. “I understand, my lord,” he said as if what he understood was of paramount importance to the survival of every soul in England, “that you’ve need of a courting idea or two.”
Richard blinked, but found no words to express his astonishment, either that Hamlet should have heard such a thing, or that Hamlet should have felt himself to be skilled enough in the arts to be Richard’s teacher.
Then again, Hamlet did have a fairly fine grasp of Queen Eleanor’s ideals.
“Well . . .” Richard began.
“Aye,” he said, with a sympathetic nod, “’tis a common sentiment expressed when faced with these difficulties. Fortunate you are, my lord, to have me at your disposal.”
Richard could find absolutely nothing to say to that.
“Now, Queen Eleanor would have had a number of things to suggest to aid you in your quest for your lady’s hand, and to be sure she would have had a proper way to go about it.”
“No doubt,” Richard managed.
Hamlet reached out and actually patted him on the shoulder. “Never to fear, my lord. Sir Hamlet of Coteborne is at the ready, nigh onto leaping into the saddle, plump and stuffed as the king’s finest eel pie on its way to the oven—”
Would that you were on your way there, Richard thought. But then he remembered Hamlet’s strength of arm and fierce loyalty and refrained from comment. He mustered up what he hoped was an appropriately helpless look and mumbled a few inarticulate mumbles.
Hamlet needed no more encouragement than that. He fair leaped across the courtyard, apparently eager to give Richard’s dilemma serious thought.
The saints preserve them all.
Richard took a deep breath and struggled to remember what he’d been about to do. He espied Jessica standing near her hall, watching the progress. He gathered his wits and sauntered across the courtyard. He didn’t spare Jessica a glance, but he did make a point of snagging her hand on the way by. She gasped, but didn’t say anything as he led her up the stairs. He’d planned to make it all the way to his bedchamber, but found he didn’t have the patience for it. He stopped halfway up the first flight of stairs, backed his lady up against the curved wall, and looked down at her.
“I’ll take my leave of you properly now,” he announced.
“I’m not sure I’m still—”
He cut off her words with his lips. He very carefully held her captive against the wall, making a great effort not to crush her.
Even so, she winced. He came to himself immediately, then realized his fingers had somehow come to rest all the way around her back and over her side.
“Oh, Jessica,” he whispered quickly, “forgive me—”
“It’s all right,” she said, kissing him again. “Your hand has been there the whole time. I just now noticed it.”
“You, too?” he asked with a half laugh.
Jessica pulled back so fast, she struck her head against the wall. He set her down and rubbed the back of her head, shaking his head at her.
“You’re dangerous, Jessica.”
“You laughed.”
“I did not.”
She wagged a finger at him. “Don’t give me that, de Galtres. I heard it. Did anyone else hear it?”
“Nay, lady,” several male voices answered her. Richard vowed to kill all the men farther up the stairs. He glared down at Jessica.
“They aren’t supposed to be noticing us.”
“You ordered them to watch me at all times.”
“I’ll change my orders,” he growled.
She smiled, then reached up and touched his cheek. “I’m so happy,” she whispered. “I never thought I would ever be this happy.”
Richard put his arms around her and held her to him. He rested his cheek against her hair and let her words sink deep into his heart.
“Any reason why?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“You, of course,” she said.
“How . . .”
She pulled her head back and looked up at him. “Because you are a sweet, tender, passionate man and you treat me like you might just love me.”
He smiled weakly. “Indeed.”
She reached up and touched his mouth. “There’s that smile again.”
“A poor one.”
“It’s better than no smile at all. Don’t grin, though. I have to be sitting down for that.” She brushed past him and started down the steps. “Have a nice day, dear.”
“Dear? How mean you that?” he asked.
She only waved over her shoulder without turning around. Richard followed her down on the off chance that she would turn around and see his scowl. He leaned back against the wall while he decided whether or not his legs would carry him back up the stairs.
Jessica walked over to one of the low great-hall walls, clambered over it, then sat down. She buried her face in her hands. Richard watched Walter hasten to her, saw her wave him away, then started to smile. So, she wasn’t as unaffected as she seemed. He turned, feeling inordinately pleased, and mounted the steps. A cluster of men were standing by the door to the gathering chamber. Richard looked them all over, selected the ones he thought most likely to have answered Jessica, and herded them into a group.
“One by one in the lists,” he announced. “My lady teases me. You do not. Understood?”
The suddenly blanched visages was answer enough. Richard bellowed for War
ren to help him with his mail and continued up to his bedchamber. Aye, an afternoon in the lists would be fine sport. At least there he might have a chance of ridding his head of Hamlet’s offer for help and his own schemes and plans. Then he would bathe and retire to his chamber for more of those breathtaking smiles from his lady.
Life seemed only to improve with time.
30
Jessica put her hands on her waist and frowned. It had been almost three weeks since her side had been wounded, two weeks since she had found herself for all intents and purposes married to Richard de Galtres, and a week since she’d decided to woo him. This creation in front of her was to be her coup de grâce, something that would send him positively over the edge, cement forever his affection for her, and render him speechless—all at the same time.
But what she was staring at looked like something destined for the rag box.
Jessica looked at Aldith, the young kitchen maid.
“You’re certain this will work?”
“Aye, my lady,” Aldith said, nodding. “You lay the cloth out, cut away the excess here and here, then sew the seams. ’Tis a most simple garment to make. We judged it next to one of Lord Richard’s old tunics. ’Twill fit.”
Well, if anyone would know, it would be a medieval girl. Jessica had already tried to sew a tunic on her own and she hadn’t even come close to making anything that looked like a shirt. Aldith had laid cloth out on the floor, folded it, then cut it in a T shape. Sew the seams and, hey presto, a medieval tunic.
“All right,” Jessica said reluctantly. “I’ll try. I appreciate the help. And you don’t mind mending the other things?”
Aldith had the pile up in her arms before Jessica could blink. Evidently the girl had no problem with getting out of the kitchen.
“Not at all, my lady.”
“I think there is enough to keep you doing this permanently,” Jessica said carefully. “I’m going to make this one thing for Richard, but normally I can’t sew to save my life. You wouldn’t mind becoming, oh, say my personal maid?”
Aldith burst into smile like another might have burst into song. She positively beamed.
“My lady, ’twould be an honor.”
“Well, great.” Jessica smiled. A little help wouldn’t be a bad thing at all. The child couldn’t have been more than twelve or so, but she was very sweet and seemed to know the ropes. “And you don’t have to do all those things today. In fact, why don’t you go take the day and do whatever you’d like to do? We all need a good day of rest.”
Aldith fell to her knees and kissed Jessica’s hand. Jessica pulled away, laughing uneasily.
“It’s all right, really. Go on. Shoo.”
She heard the door open behind her and saw Richard come in. He wore his customary expression of gravity. He nodded to Aldith as she scampered by, then shut and bolted the door. Jessica put his tunic behind her back.
“Another?” he inquired.
Her first mistake: trying to make a tunic on her own. Her second mistake: allowing Richard to examine it long enough to commit the disaster to memory. She had the feeling she would never live it down.
“This one will work,” she said defensively.
He crossed the room and put his hands on her shoulders. “The effort is the greatest gift of all,” he said kindly.
“Oh, just stop it, you rotten man. I don’t need to be humored.” She put her arms around him and scowled up at him. “What are you doing here? I thought you’d be out doing your lordly duties for a while longer.”
He looked down at her. “A storm is coming in and I feared you would be frightened.”
“I love storms.”
“We’ll see,” he said. “I daresay you’ll need my strong arms around you to make you feel safe.”
“What about your men?”
“They’ll seek shelter once the worst of it comes.”
“I don’t suppose you have to worry much about attacks in bad weather.”
He looked down at her wryly. “You’d be surprised. But you needn’t worry. No one will enter my gates and live to tell of it.”
“I wasn’t worried. It seems like a pretty daunting place.”
“Daunting and sturdy,” he agreed. “The seaward walls are fourteen feet thick.”
“Fourteen?”
He nodded. “The bailey walls are twelve, but seaward they are thicker. My father’s were six. He lost two sides of the seawall in one storm. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake.”
She wanted to tell him that his father was a stupid, selfish bastard, but she also wanted to have a pleasant day. There was no sense in going any farther down that path. So, to distract him, she took his hands and kissed each palm.
“I love you,” she said.
“What brought that on?”
She smiled. “It’s like a fever. It comes and goes. I think your smiles bring it on.”
“Then remind me to give you more of them.”
She rested her head against his chest and couldn’t help but marvel over how changed he was. He soaked up every expression of love she gave him. She watched him as he listened to her laugh or watched her smile. It broke her heart a little to see how hungry he was for such simple things, so she did her best to give them to him in abundance. She’d been repaid a hundredfold just by seeing his own smile and hearing his laugh.
Even his men had noticed a slight softening, something she’d been careful not to pass on. The men only seemed grateful for it, not on the verge of taking advantage of him for it, and they’d worked that much harder to please him.
She closed her eyes. Had she ever lived another life? The twentieth century seemed a million miles away. Richard loved her. She loved him. How much better could life get?
“What do I smell?” he asked.
She smiled to herself. Leave it to a man to come right to the point. She pulled back and smiled at him.
“Supper. Are you interested?”
“Always.”
She took him by the hand and led him to the table. He followed her, then pulled up short and frowned.
“What is this?” he asked suspiciously.
“It’s a special dinner. Sit.”
He sat, but his wariness didn’t fade. “Why?”
“Because it just is. You ask too many questions.” She smoothed her hand over his damp hair. “You’re supposed to just sit back and enjoy.”
“Are you going to poison me?”
“No,” she said. “But I may just seduce you.”
He was still scowling by the time Jessica had settled into her chair opposite his.
“Meat pie?” she offered. “Roast fowl? Or perhaps some venison? I had all your favorites made.” She smiled at him politely. “Richard?”
He was blushing. The bright color in his cheeks was absolutely charming. Jessica committed it to memory; if nothing else, Kendrick would enjoy the story.
Richard cleared his throat roughly. “Surely you jest.”
“About dinner?”
He shook his head. “About the . . .”
“Seduction?”
He nodded.
“I wouldn’t joke about something as serious as seduction. Fowl or venison?”
“But—”
“Both,” she decided for him. “Pour the wine, would you? You might want to taste it first. I never can water it down and still make it taste good the way you can. There are some fairly frightening vegetables here, but the sauce is thick and pretty spicy. We’ll bury everything under it and hope for the best. Would you care for bread?”
Richard accepted everything without comment. He looked too stunned to comment. That almost hurt Jessica more than it pleased her. Had no one ever done a single nice thing for the man? Well, things were going to change.
She refilled his plate, refilled his glass, and hovered until he shook his head and pushed himself back from the table.
“Had enough?” she asked with a smile.
He nodded. His smile was slightly wobbly,
as if he were queasy. Jessica rose and pulled the table away. Richard was instantly on his feet to help. Apparently chivalry hadn’t been wasted on him.
She took the brush he’d given her a few days earlier, sat down in his chair, and dragged a stool up in front of her with her foot.
“Have a seat,” she invited.
He hesitated. “Why?”
“Because I’m going to brush your hair. And that’s the last ‘why’ you get tonight. Just do what I tell you from now on. Got it?”
He threw her a disgruntled look before he sat down with his back to her. Jessica sat cross-legged in his chair and ran her hand over his hair once or twice. Then she gently worked the remaining tangles from it before she started brushing it. Within moments Richard was leaning back against her legs. His hands rested loosely on his bent knees.
“Like it?” she asked softly.
“Mmmm,” he replied.
The hair brushing only lasted until her arms got tired. Richard stretched when she finished, then rose slowly with a distinct popping of his knees and turned to look down at her.
“Thank you. I think I’ll have a walk now—”
“Not so fast, cookie.” She gestured to the rug with her brush. “Take off your tunic and lie down. I’m going to rub your back.”
“Jessica . . .”
She rose and moved the stool aside. Without waiting for him, she unbuckled his belt and set it over the back of the chair. She tried to get his tunic off, but he was tall and uncooperative.
“Richard, I’m not going to hurt you,” she said patiently.
He stood rigidly. “I don’t like the unknown.”
“I just told you what I was going to do.”
“But this . . . this seduction . . .”
“I’m just going to rub your back. With any luck at all, you might just enjoy it. Now, are you going to cooperate, or do I help you along at the point of my knife?”
“Saints, wench, but you are fierce.”
She tugged on the sleeves of his tunic. “You’ve got that right.”
He took off his tunic, then hesitantly stretched out on the floor. She could see the ridges of tension in his shoulders and back. She took the bottle of moisturizer she’d made out of oil and crushed rose petals and poured some in her hands.