“I can catch you.”
A smile danced on her lips. “I seem to remember a knight chasing after three young girls because one of them had stolen from the buttery. I seem to also recall said knight being out-run by much faster, much younger ladies.”
“I was not expending much of an effort.”
“You were running so hard that your face was purple.”
“Untrue. And how dare you criticize my age.”
“I did not criticize your age. I simply stated a fact. Anyone is young compared to you.”
“Is that so? My, you have grown mouthy and bold as your birthday approaches. I suppose you believe that the special day prohibits me from punishing you for your insolence.”
“Absolutely. You would not dare strike the object of celebration.”
He grinned. So did she. Silly, warm, fluid emotions filled the room; he was terrified that she would be able to read his mind. And she was afraid that he would be able to read hers.
Swallowing hard, Arissa lowered her gaze; her cheeks were beginning to flush brightly. “How was London, my lord?”
“Busy enough,” he said vaguely. “But I am more concerned with this celebration on the morrow. Far too many obnoxious people for my taste. The list of guests reads like a damnable wedding.”
Her head came up sharply, the inevitable flooding her mind; I wish it was our wedding, my love. But there would never be a wedding for them. She was leaving for Whitby, and he would continue on with his life. Which meant, inescapably, marriage. Certainly a man of Richmond’s status needed a wife and heirs.
She would not be that wife. To think of him touching another woman, plying her with soft kisses, speaking fondly to her with words only Arissa should be hearing….
A dagger of pain pierced her heart and she visibly winced, lowering her gaze so that he could not read her agony. Anguish of the worst sort built within her chest as it had earlier in the day in Mossy’s sanctuary. She had been able to escape him then. She could not escape him now.
“What is wrong, kitten?” he asked softly.
Kitten. He had always called her kitten, from the recollection of her earliest memories. He had told her once that she had sounded much like a kitten when she had been a babe, and somehow the term stuck with her, even into adulthood. Only from Richmond would she hear the tender, childish expression. She was not a child anymore.
“N-nothing,” she swallowed, fighting off the tears.
To her dismay, he knelt in front of her. His proximity, his presence, was nearly too much to bear. She attempted to turn away from him, to protect herself from her foolish emotions, but he braced his arms on either side of the chair and refused to allow her to move.
“You are lying,” he said gently. “Does your arm hurt so?”
An escape! “Aye, it stings,” she said, grateful that he had given her an excuse for her tears. “And…. and it will probably scar.”
His fingers touched her skin and she gasped, bolts of lightning surging through her limbs and rendering her entire body weak and aching. He drew his hand away in alarm, his gaze inquisitive.
“I did not touch the burns, Arissa.”
She was shaking terribly. Lacking any control whatsoever, her eyes met with his wise gaze, silently beseeching him to leave her before her composure evaporated. But he was not listening to her silent pleas; his beautiful eyes were open and honest. Immediately, the tears came.
He began wiping tears away before he could stop himself. “Oh, Riss, what’s wrong? Has something terrible occurred while I have been away? Something you are greatly troubled over, or…?”
She shook her head violently, wanting desperately to be free of him, yet with the same breath wanting him to continue touching her. But she could not tell him so.
“N-nay,” she sobbed.
Richmond knew he should not touch her any more than he already was. In fact, dragging his fingers across her silken cheeks was a dangerous enough sport, but he lacked the will or desire to prevent himself from following his instincts. And when she began openly weeping, his arms suddenly took on a life of their own and drew her into a crushing, protective embrace.
She couldn’t pull away from him. His scent, leather and horses and pine, filled her nostrils and she felt her arms going about his neck, burying her face deeper and deeper into the crook of his shoulder. The tighter she clung, the more fiercely he held her.
This is dangerous! Richmond’s common sense screamed to him. But, God’s Teeth, he’d never held anything so sweet and womanly in his entire life. He could smell the gardenias from the pomade she was so fond of making, pomade that had nearly cost her her life.
His face was in her hair, black silk that assaulted him more brutally than any warrior he had ever faced. His fingers began stroking her luscious mane of their own accord, winding themselves tightly within the strands. Before he realized it, he had her entire head gripped in his two massive hands.
Her weeping had ceased. Her face, free from the shielding comfort of his shoulder, was suddenly in front of him. He’d never beheld anything more beautiful in his entire life.
“My lord?”
It took Richmond a moment to realize that Arissa had not uttered the words. Her quivering rosy lips were inches from his own. He could feel her warm breath, the heat from her body.
“My lord?”
His eyes widened and he immediately dropped his hands from her head. Rising to his feet with shocking speed, Mossy was already in the door and Richmond heard it slam. He had no idea how long the old man had been watching them.
“Did you knock?” he demanded, more harshly than he should have.
Mossy did not pay him any attention. “Ye did not hear me,” he dug about in his bag. “Arissa, how did ye burn yerself?”
Arissa was in a daze. She was shaking so violently that she could barely function much less answer a simple question. Mossy turned to her, his ancient eyes grazing her stunned expression.
“Riss?”
She drew in a deep breath that sounded more like a sob. Senses returning somewhat, she raised her eyes to him. “Wax,” she whispered.
Richmond was standing across the room, attempting to recover his composure. He couldn’t believe how close he had come to kissing her. He couldn’t believe he had actually allowed himself to be placed in that position. What in the hell was he thinking?
Mossy was bent over Arissa’s arm, examining the red blotches. After a brief look, he took a vial of salve from his bag and smeared it on the wounds. Arissa winced and tried to jerk her arm away, but he held up a curt finger.
“None of that!” he said sharply. Mossy had never known a day of irritation or anger in his life, and Arissa was shocked to hear his tone. Before she could apologize, the old man turned to Richmond. “Come and hold her still, my lord. She cannot move about while I am trying to apply this salve. It must be applied precisely.”
Richmond did not hesitate, although he felt as if he were about to drown. He still was not recovered from the last time he’d touched her.
As Richmond reached the chair, Mossy pulled Arissa to her feet. “Sit, my lord, sit,” as Richmond moved to do so, Mossy gently eased a very stiff Arissa onto the knight’s lap. “There now, lass. Sit still. Richmond, put your arms about her so she doesn’t move. I cannot have her moving about, disrupting my work.”
Richmond swallowed hard. With the greatest reluctance, one massive arm snaked around Arissa’s slender waist while the other held her arm still. He could feel her shaking violently underneath his grasp. Or mayhap it was his own quivering. He couldn’t tell.
“That’s the way, my lord,” Mossy said softly, all of the fire suddenly gone from his tone. “Hold her tightly. Very tightly.”
The old man began to carefully apply a salve that had a burnt smell to it. He seemed to be putting a good deal of time and concern into a task that could have just as easily been accomplished in a few seconds. Richmond watched, Arissa quivered, as Mossy continued to stroke her arm g
ently.
“Hold her still now,” Mossy said, replacing the cork in the salve bottle and moving to place it in his bag. He continued to rummage about in his satchel for some time while Richmond maintained Arissa in a motionless position.
Seconds stretched into minutes as Mossy busied himself in his bag. Richmond could smell Arissa’s gardenias and they threatened to undo him. Her waist, slim and long, was barely an armful for him, and her rounded buttocks seated on his hard thighs were mayhap the greatest torture he had ever known.
’Twas silly, truthfully. He couldn’t count the times that Arissa had sat on his lap, giggling as he tickled her or sleeping peacefully in his arms. When she had been very small, she almost always fell asleep in his arms. She was afraid of the dark and he had made her feel safe. Odd, he thought, that a situation that had occurred habitually for several years was suddenly the most erotic event he could ever recall.
If Richmond was feeling vastly peculiar, it was nothing compared to Arissa’s slow death. To feel him touching her, holding her, was bliss beyond compare. She’d been in this position before, seated on his lap while he told stories of battle or tales of fairies. She’d always relished the feel of him, the comfort of his closeness. But at this moment, she wished she were seated anywhere but upon his lap.
She knew he could feel her emotions, seeping through her skin and infecting him. He had always been highly intuitive of her emotions and she was positive he knew her innermost feelings. For the sake of her foolish emotions, she had never been more ashamed.
Mossy was spending an excessive amount of time digging through his bag. Arissa sat like a stone and Richmond’s palms were beginning to sweat.
“What are you doing?” Richmond finally asked, his voice strangely tight.
Mossy did not say anything for a moment. Then, he chuckled. “God’s Teeth. I have forgotten.” He suddenly closed his bag and flashed them a toothless smile. “Sleep with the arm exposed to the air tonight, Riss. The salve should ease the pain and there is less of a chance that the wounds will blister.”
Richmond and Arissa watched, open-mouthed, as Mossy escaped the bower as silently and as swiftly as he had entered. Richmond swore he caught a glimmer of mischief in the aged brown eyes.
The bower door was left ajar. Arissa, acutely aware of Richmond’s heated body against her, felt her cheeks flushing mightily. As discreetly as she could manage, she slipped from his lap and nearly stumbled in her haste to put distance between them.
Richmond watched her, disappointed and relieved at the same time. Clearly, there was no mistaking the flush to her cheeks and he knew it was because she was angry with him. Angry he had clutched her so intimately, angry that his manners had been sorely lacking. Had Mossy not interrupted them when he did, there was no telling how badly he would have behaved.
What puzzled him, however, was why Mossy returned them to a position that was nearly as intimate as the first. With Arissa sitting on his lap, clutched against his chest, it was almost as if Mossy wanted them to be close. As if he suspected what was occurring within Richmond’s heart and sought to torture him. Crazy old bastard.
He rose from the chair, clearing his throat. “Does it feel better?”
She nodded, unable to look at him. “Soothed, at least.”
He gazed at her dark head, wondering if he should apologize for their close contact. He’d never apologized for all of the innocent occasions in which she had been enfolded in his arms, or seated upon his thighs. Why should he apologize for something that was completely natural?
“Riss, are you all right?” Regine was suddenly in the doorway, her blue eyes wide at her older sister.
Arissa smiled bravely at the younger girl, relieved with the diversion. Richmond’s presence had her shaken. “Fine, Regine. Mossy put a bit of slime on my arm that should heal it properly.”
Regine’s eyes were big on Richmond. “You saved Bart.”
He smiled wearily at the girl. “I prevented him from breaking his artful neck.”
“He has a bruise on his bottom the size of a melon,” Regine said happily. “Mother thinks he has ruptured a vein.”
Richmond snorted. “More than likely he’s managed to damage his brain, considering his intelligence is lodged in his arse.” When Regine giggled, he patted her fondly on the head. “Let me guess, you curious little wench. You saw the bruise, did you not?”
“Of course I did,” Regine tossed her long blond hair flippantly.
Richmond shook his head reprovingly. “I was hoping you would outgrow this intensely curious phase you have been going through, but I see that I have been wrong. I told you no more spying on the soldiers, no more kissing the serving wenches in order to learn their techniques, and you were not to demand explicit stories from the stable boys any longer.”
Regine avoided his gaze, wandering over to her older sister. “I do not kiss the serving wenches any longer. Just the boys. I am developing my own techniques.”
“No more of that. I shall blister you again if I have to.”
Regine hid herself behind Arissa, pressing against her sister’s back in hopes of evading Richmond’s piercing stare. “You are not my father.”
“Hmm,” Richmond cocked a dark eyebrow. “I have kept your disgraceful secrets long enough; any more tales of your promiscuous streak and your father shall know the truth of it. You are too wild for your own good, Regine Margaret. ’Twould do you well to learn to behave as your elder sister does.”
Regine’s plump arms wound around Arissa’s waist. It looked as if the eldest sibling had grown a new pair of limbs. Richmond met Arissa’s gaze, unguarded now that she was no longer the focus of his attention. Silently, she implored him to ease his assault against the inquisitive young girl.
As always, he would do as she asked, audibly expressed or not. He’d always given in to her desires without a struggle. It did not prevent him, however, from giving Arissa a long look as he moved towards the door.
“My lady, I shall leave you to retire. Next time, you would do well to heed my orders so that you do not find yourself injured,” he peered around Arissa, meeting Regine’s pouting gaze. “Good eve to you, my lady.”
His boot falls faded down the hall. Arissa stood in the center of the room, her sister wound around her waist as if the raven-haired beauty could protect her from Richmond’s wrath. Regine had always been terrified of the massive knight with the deep, growling voice. Especially when he disapproved of her slightly perverted juvenile experimentation.
But Arissa had never been terrified of him. At least, not in the literal sense. Even though her arm throbbed with burn and her head swam with confusion, she was not nearly as shaken as she had been moments before. In fact, she was aware of a rather pleasant mood settling.
Something had occurred, although she was not sure what, exactly. The only element she was able to decipher was the fact that Richmond’s touch had gone beyond the usual fatherly gesture. And his beautiful eyes, barely lined with his age, had spoken to her. Words she had never heard before.
Oddly, her confusion and shame gave way to a most unexpected smile.
CHAPTER THREE
Arissa awoke to the sound of Richmond’s voice. Rolling over in bed, she thought mayhap he was in the corridor speaking to the servants. It took her a moment to realize that he was out in the bailey, shouting orders to the troops.
She lay still a moment, listening to his voice and feeling herself wash with the familiar pride she had come to associate with Richmond. He was so mighty, so massive and powerful, and he controlled hundreds of men with absolutely no effort at all. They nearly knocked themselves over in their eagerness to complete his bidding.
She would have been quite happy to have lounged in bed all morn, listening to the sound of his voice. But Penelope, Emma and Regine had other ideas; suddenly, her bower door flew open and a huge copper tub was being shoved across the scrubbed floor. As Arissa sat up in bed, Penelope and Emma had several servants filling the vat with steaming
water as Regine emerged into the chamber, carrying the surcoat that would adorn her sister this day.
“Do not get water on it, Regine!” Emma scolded as she passed too close to the tub. “The silk will stain!”
Regine stuck her tongue out at the older girl and proceeded to hang the surcoat, very carefully, on the wardrobe.
Arissa sighed with satisfaction at the sight of her new surcoat; of two-color silk, the very latest fashion, it was a form-fitting piece of green fabric with the contrasting shade being a pale, iridescent green. The scoop neckline clung to her delicate shoulders while the long, wide sleeves nearly swept the ground when she walked. A silver link belt with four rough emeralds would adorn her slim waist.
Regine stood back and admired the surcoat with satisfaction. “’Twill be magnificent with your eyes, Riss.”
Arissa refused to waste any time. Leaping from the bed, she plunged into the scalding water and was the prompt recipient of a completely brutal scrubbing. Penelope washed her hair while Emma and Regine soaped her body, all of them chattering endlessly on the silliest of subjects. But the most prevalent topic, understandably, was the excitement of the day.
“I have heard Tad de Rydal is most dashing,” Emma said with a hint of hope. “I have not heard if he’s betrothed. Have you, Riss?”
Arissa shook her black head, wild and untamed with Penelope’s drying. “I have not heard a lick about him. Pen?”
Penelope’s reply was interrupted by Regine’s pondering. “I wonder what it would be like to kiss him. I wonder if his buttocks are as fuzzy as Bart’s.”
Emma shrieked while Arissa and Penelope erupted into giggles. “No kissing, Regine,” Arissa reminded her sternly. “Remember what Richmond said.”
Regine thrust her chin up and turned away. “He’s not my lord and master. I do not have to listen to him.”
“You’d better,” Emma said with a smirk. “Certainly you remember what happened when he caught you in the livery with the stable servant. Neither you nor the boy could sit for a week.”
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