Only For You

by Hannah Howell

  Although his imperious tone irritated her, she obeyed. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw her three cousins, the Jagers. She smiled broadly and waved. They cheerfully waved back. Whatever confusion she suffered concerning a stay at Regenford did not dim the pleasure she felt over a chance to visit with them. It had been far too long since she had seen them.

  “Saxan, child,” Lady Mary called, laughter tinting her voice.

  “You wish something, m’lady?” Saxan asked as she turned to face the woman seated opposite her.

  “Simply to tell you that we are now being served.”

  Botolf bit back a smile, for he knew his mother had intended to scold Saxan for her small, amiable lapse in decorum, but then had lacked the heart to do so. “I think you will enjoy the fare set before you, Saxan.”

  Saxan enjoyed the hearty, delicious meal. The conversation swirling around her consisted mostly of Botolf relating even more information about Regenford. Since the lords of Regenford had been the liege lords of her family for many generations, she had heard most of what he told her, yet the way he told the stories cast them in a new, even more interesting light. He did not always see things as others did. She did not hesitate to tell him when she believed he was mistaken, either.

  “I am certain that Sir Tarkington’s forces entered that particular battle from the right,” she argued at one point, pushing aside her empty plate and sipping her wine. “ ’twats my uncle, Sir Jager, who rode in on the left.”

  “You may be right,” murmured Botolf as he hastily rethought the battle in question.

  “Of course I am,” she replied with haughty assurance only to destroy her pose by giggling at his raised eyebrow.

  “Cousin?”

  Saxan turned to face the three Jagers and the Healdon brothers. “You wish to speak with me?”

  “If m’lord permits,” Addis, the eldest of the Jager brothers, said with a small bow toward Botolf. “Would you care to join us for a walk ere you retire for the night, Saxan? It has been a long time since we have seen or spoken with each other.”

  “May I, m’lord?” she asked Botolf, unable to hide her eagerness.

  “Of course,” Botolf agreed with a hint of reluctance. “Mayhap I will join you in a while.”

  “You would be most welcome,” she said even as she left her seat and strode away with her cousins.

  “They mean no insult, m’lord,” murmured Sir Edric, a ripple of laughter in his voice as he moved to sit closer to Botolf.

  “And I take none. As soon as I finish my wine, I, too, will walk outside. I mean to let them know that I am not so easily diverted.”

  “Diverted from what, m’lord?” Sir Edric asked sweetly.

  Botolf merely smiled and turned to speak to his mother. He noticed how hard she worked to keep her attention away from Sir Edric. Yet again he found himself wondering what had passed between her and Edric at the inn. Unfortunately, unless his mother or Edric chose to speak to him, he would never know. He knew his mother was no light, fickle female, yet she had kissed the man and now avoided him. It was puzzling. When he glimpsed a sadness in his mother’s eyes, he almost wished he had not ordered Saxan not to meddle.

  “Ah, ’tis indeed a fine night,” Saxan murmured, gazing up at the full moon and bright stars with appreciation.

  “Why, the moon is so bright you could roll the dice by its light,” said Addis.

  “You may be right, Addis,” she replied and grinned, knowing he wished for a game.

  “We should test the truth of it,” said Kyne, the youngest Jager. “All we need is a flat place.”

  “If I recall, there is a good spot just around that comer,” said Kenelm. “A toss or two of the dice would be enough to prove Addis’s speculation.”

  Within moments, Saxan was kneeling on the ground with her five cousins deep into a game of dice. She only briefly worried that it was not a suitable occupation for a lady. There was no one around to see her but her cousins, and they did not care.

  Botolf rose finally to seek out Saxan, and Edric quickly got to his feet. “If m’lord allows, I should like to join you in your walk.”

  “Of course,” drawled Botolf as he strode out of the hall. “Nearly all the rest of your clan is out there.”

  “Far from nearly all, m’lord,” murmured Edric. “We are a very large family.”

  “Of which the Todds are the head?”

  “Aye, even though there are a few of us who hold higher titles. ’Tis recognized that the Todds are the trunk of a many-branched tree.”

  Botolf shook his head. “Your family sounds a strong, full-branched oak whilst mine is but a thin sapling.”

  “There have been years where it seemed there were but a few of us. The yearly gatherings grew small and it was worrisome. No man likes to see his family wane, to realize that, mayhap, its time draws near an end. ’Tis sad to see any name fade from the rolls. Howbeit, it breaks a man’s heart to look about him and find few, then fewer, of his blood, to see that all trace of him and his is fading.”

  “When each union produces but a few children, such an end becomes fated.” Botolf swiftly reviewed his own dwindling family and murmured, “Few of my scarce kin have born more than one or two children. There are not many bastards, either. It does appear as if the Lavington line is dying. Even my father saw it.” He shrugged. “Mayhap God wills that our time is over.”

  “M’lord, I speak now with no motive but to do what little I can to raise your hopes. Aye, and to help save a family that has been naught but good to and for my family.”

  “Ah, you are about to say something which could be seen as a ploy to make me choose a particular wife.”

  “I fear so, m’lord.”

  “Speak freely, Sir Edric. I know that such trickery is not your way.”

  “Mayhap what afflicts your family is the choice of wives. When a man holds a high title and a rich lineage, he is more apt to make a marriage for reasons of politics, alliances, land, or coin. That is all he looks at.” Edric nodded absently at one of the men-at-arms as he and Botolf walked through the inner bailey. “True, there is a careful look at the bloodlines, but only to provide a proper purity. Often there are marriages within the clan. Has this been the way of your family?”

  “Mother was cousin to my father, and my late wife was cousin to me.” Botolf frowned as he tried to recall the lineage of other Lavington brides. “Do you believe it is wrong to marry cousins? I realize the church frowns on it, but ’tis still done.”

  “Nay, not wrong, but, if one’s family is waning, if their broods are growing smaller, is it wise to continue to choose a mate from that line? Whether the weakness is God’s will or no, ‘tis there and should not be ignored. If one can look at wealth, land, and lineage, why can he not look at the ability to breed? Is it really wise to choose a bride who is the only child of an only child? True, that bride might well bear many healthy babes, but we all carry the mark of our fathers and ’tis not wise to ignore that. We wed to produce heirs. ’Tis our duty. So, why do we so often ignore signs that tell us the woman’s family has not done well in that endeavor?”

  “This is how your clan chooses its mates?”

  “We try.” Edric smiled. “Ah, but the heart oft rules the head. My wife came from dying stock. She gave me two sons, but, e’en had she survived, there would have been no more. They were all the fruit her body could bear, but I was well pleased.”

  “It seems unkind to wed a woman only to keep her with child at every turning.”

  “That is not what I suggest for, aye, ‘tis unkind and it robs the woman of her health and beauty. Aye, I know God wishes us to be fruitful; but, no matter what the priests say, I cannot believe He means for us to slaughter our women in obedience to His command. A woman is fruitful for many years. She can rest and regain her strength between each child yet still give a man a large brood. She can have three babes or twenty. ’Tis for her to decide.”

  “Her? Surely you mean to say that it is her husband’s de
cision.”

  “Who knows the strength of her body better than the woman herself?”

  Botolf’s eyes widened as he realized the wisdom of that, a wisdom that should have been obvious to him. “Of course. And of what use is making a woman so weak she bears weak babes who will not live out their first year?”

  “Your family fades, m‘lord. Your people see it and worry o’er it. I will not flatter you by saying ’tis all for love of you. The Lavingtons have been good liege lords. We want no change which could easily be for the worst. All I suggest is that you look to your bride’s family. Are they forced to put all of their hopes into but one child for no other was born to them? Death lurks at every turn, and not all can elude it long enough to become a man. A large family is not only a joy, but a surety against all that can rob a poor child of a full life. Mayhap all your family needs to halt its slow death is some new blood, strong blood.”

  “Fruitful blood,” Botolf murmured. “Wise words, Sir Edric. It is but prudent, when my own line wanes, to examine a bride’s family’s history of procreation. God’s beard,” he whispered as he and Edric rounded a corner and found Saxan and her cousins.

  His shock at finding Saxan down on her knees indulging in a boisterous game of dice with five young men faded quickly. Amusement swiftly replaced it as six handsome faces turned his way, their expressions ones of identical consternation. He had to force down a laugh as he took Saxan by the arm and helped her to her feet.

  “Who was winning?” he asked as, briskly, she brushed off her skirts.

  “She was,” replied Addis with a heavy sigh. “ ’Twas foolish to think her twice-cursed luck would fail at last and allow me to win back all I lost to her the last time we played. ’Tis good that we keep our wagers small or I would have naught but rags to wear.”

  “Enough moaning, Addis,” Saxan said. “Where are my winnings? Mayhap you need help to gather it all up for me.”

  “Braggart,” scolded Kenelm with a laugh as he and his cousins gathered up the coins scattered on the ground and put them into her outstretched hands. “Ah, well, the pain of loss is lessened by the knowledge of how you will spend your winnings.”

  “Do you not have somewhere to go?” Saxan spoke in a near purr, glaring at her talkative cousin.

  Edric chuckled as all five youths made a hasty, somewhat undignified retreat. “Child, if you could do that to the Scots, our armor would soon rust away.”

  “What do you spend your winnings on?” Botolf asked Saxan.

  “Oh, nothing.” Saxan found it impossible to look at Botolf and be evasive, so she concentrated on filling her pockets with her winnings. “Have you come to escort me back into the keep?”

  A quick glance at Edric’s impassive expression told Botolf that Saxan’s evasiveness was no surprise to the man. He decided he would allow the subject to rest for now, but that he would get an answer soon.

  “I came to beg your company for a walk through my mother’s garden,” Botolf said to Saxan.

  He took her by the arm and led her along the well-laid-out paths which wended through his mother’s ever-increasing gardens. It nettled him when Edric fell into step beside them. He knew some form of chaperonage was to be expected, but he did not want it. Although he had no intention of doing anything dishonorable, he did wish to be alone with Saxan. Botolf felt he could gain a better knowledge of the girl and of his own mind if they were left alone to speak and act without restriction.

  “Uncle,” cried Orick Jager as he stumbled up to them, “I think you had best come with me.”

  “Why? What is wrong?” Edric frowned when Orick grabbed his arm and started to pull him away from Saxan and Botolf.

  “Kenelm has set about thrashing Addis.” Orick glanced at Botolf. “You will excuse us, m’lord?”

  “Of course,” Botolf said, meeting Edric’s scowl with a wide grin.

  “I will be but a moment,” Edric said firmly as he hurried away with Orick.

  “Do not hurry on our account,” he called after Edric, then held on to Saxan as she attempted to follow her uncle and cousin. “And where are you off to?”

  “To watch the fight,” she replied.

  “I begin to think that you see a great many of them. Let this one pass and walk with me.”

  “As you wish.” She fell into step beside him as he began to walk amongst his mother’s plantings. “You are quite right. Addis and Kenelm fight often. Addis is clever, you see, and often loses patience with Kenelm, who is not. I think Kenelm must learn to think more and Addis must learn to control his temper. Did your mother plan this garden herself?”

  It took Botolf a moment to adjust to her abrupt change of subject, a habit she employed frequently. “She did,” he replied. “At first my father and I thought it foolish, but we soon appreciated the peace and beauty of it. ’Tis a good place to do one’s thinking.” He smiled down at her, noting how the moonlight added a glow to her hair. “Is there a garden at Wolfshead?”

  “A small one, for we do not have as much room within our walls as you do. ’Tis difficult for my sister Thylda and me to agree on how it should look. I like simple paths through plants allowed to grow as they wish, but she likes more order to it. Thylda also favors reds and whites whilst I like blues and yellows. Then my sisters Denu and Tuesday are apt to plant something and not tell us.”

  Botolf shook his head. “Why should they do that? Is it not presumptuous?”

  “Very,” she replied with a quick grin. “Howbeit, I fear they have no choice. They would bring us seedlings for the garden, lovely flowers and vines, and Thylda and I would argue so much over where to plant them and how they should grow that the poor things died. Now my elder sisters just creep off to the garden and plant their gifts where they please. Thylda and I always hurry to see what they have done after they leave. I think my uncle returns.”

  “Aye, I think he does.”

  To Saxan’s astonishment, Botolf abruptly tugged her into a cluster of tall shrubs. Despite her confusion, she obeyed his signal for silence, but nearly gasped aloud when he sat down, pulling her after him until they were hidden on all sides by the greenery. Saxan began to wonder about the earl’s sanity, but said nothing, even when her uncle and his son Olan stopped directly in front of them.

  “They must have gone inside, Father,” Olan said.

  “I suppose, although I somehow doubt that,” Edric muttered as he started toward the keep.

  “Well, they are not in the gardens and they would not hide from us.” Olan hurried after his father.

  “Nay? I would not lay any wager on that.”

  “Why did you hide from my uncle?” Saxan asked as soon as Edric and Olan had left.

  Botolf did not move from where they sat as he looked at her and shrugged. “To be contrary.” He laughed softly when she eyed him warily, her expression hinting that she had a question or two concerning his sanity. “You are very well guarded, little one.”

  “Nay. Why should they guard me?”

  “They have caught us in an embrace.”

  “True, but ’twas only that one time by the stream and we have only kissed twice.”

  He slipped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “Shall we make it three times?”

  Saxan did not resist and curled her arms around his neck. “I should call for my uncle,” she murmured.

  Botolf was pleased at this sign of favor and smiled as he lowered his mouth to hers. “Call him then.”

  “Uncle,” she whispered and met his mouth with an open eagerness.

  He wrapped his arms around her slim body, holding her very close. A growl of pleasure escaped him when she parted her lips in welcoming at the first prod of his tongue. Slowly, he urged her pliant body to the ground and reached for her laces.

  When Saxan felt his fingers on her laces she only briefly thought of resisting. She felt no fear or shame over the heat he was stirring in her. It all seemed right, as if it were the reason she had been born a woman. She also trusted Botolf
implicitly. A murmur of pleasure escaped her as she tilted her head back and allowed Botolf the freedom to cover her throat with heated kisses. She shivered faintly when the cool night air touched her newly bared breasts, then cried out her delight when he chased the chill away with soft, warm kisses. What little coherent thought she clung to fled completely when he lathed her hardened nipples with his tongue.

  What little control Botolf had maintained fled the moment he felt the hard tip of her breast against his tongue. The feel of her lithe body arching beneath him and the sweet taste of her as he drew her nipple deep into his mouth drove all sense of caution from his passion-clouded mind. He edged his hand beneath her skirts to stroke her slender legs.

  It was not until he slid his hand over her thigh and touched the braies she wore that his control began to return. Touching cloth instead of the warm unfettered femininity he sought checked his passion enough for him to regain his senses. That thin barrier, one he would not have found beneath another woman’s skirts, recalled him to other barriers he had allowed desire to wipe from his mind. He groaned as he let his full weight rest on her and pressed his face against her breasts as he fought to douse the fire in his veins.

  Although physical disappointment was a sharp pain in her midriff, Saxan realized that Botolf’s abrupt ending to their lovemaking was for the best. She felt him tremble against her, his breath hot and uneven, and sought to relieve that. She recalled what she sometimes did to ease the soreness of muscles in the backs of her kinsmen, muscles strained by swordplay or labor. Moving her hands to his back, she began to gently knead the broad, taut expanse of his back with her fingers. It was not long before she felt the tension there begin to lessen.

  Botolf was surprised that those long slender fingers, which could so arouse him, could also smooth away the knots in his muscles caused by reining in his passion. She made no reprimands; nor could he sense any blame in her. As he gently put her clothing back in order, he carefully measured the words he would say. Once she was dressed, he sat up, tugged her up, and kissed her.