"Who was I to stop her?" It was Alais's voice that answered. "She took Jordan from me. Had not the dear child begged on my behalf, she would have sent me from the keep. I am not allowed any freedom with him. I may not naysay anything she tells him. I am not a good influence on the boy, she says. Now, all I ever hear from his lips is 'the lady told me this,' 'the lady told me that.' " The nurse's voice grew louder as her complaint continued.
Rowena hurriedly removed her silver chain, placed it into its casket, and put the box aside as she listened. She should close the door, but to do so was to reveal her presence. Then, again, she'd be gone in a moment. She unpinned her wimple and released her hair from its tight roll, meaning to re-plait it once she was dressed.
"You say I should have stopped her? Who am I but a mere servant or so she told me. Do you think I am mistaken when I said she'd set me out? It was she who dismissed your butler and set his feet upon yon road without one pence to warm his pocket."
"She did what!"
His shocked tone surprised her, but then she remembered he had not witnessed the man's drunken incompetence. Surely, he would agree that a chance at life was better than a head without a body. She seated herself in a chair and slipped off her shoes and stockings.
"Aye, aye," the nurse continued, obviously enjoying her tale now that she understood she would bear no hurt for it. "She said he drank the best and served the rest, but who would know for sure if it weren't all spit, since we who serve drink only ale and beer?"
"But, the man's been here all his life. Where did he go?"
Rowena removed her fine gowns and folded them away with great care. Dressed only in her sheer linen chemise, she reached for her everyday dress that hung from the pole behind the bed.
"I know not. But, you should also know it was at her hands that Master Hugo had his strange fit and died. And she has Lady Maeve locked in a convent as well."
"She's done what with Maeve?" he choked out. "No more!" he cried. "Have someone find my wife and bring her to me."
A chair scraped, then footsteps neared the door. He was coming into the bedchamber! If he found her here, he would think she'd eavesdropped apurpose. She dropped her gown in panic. There was no time to dress and no escape without a dress. She slid onto the bed and took refuge in a fold of the bed curtains.
The door crashed shut into its frame. Her husband stalked into the room. He wore only a bedrobe, which lay open over his broad chest, and a pair of chausses, which clung damply to his hips and strong thighs. His dark hair lay in moist curls around his face. She eased farther into the shadows as she caught sight of his evil expression. He did not look to be in a mood to listen to any explanation she might give.
He grabbed his cup from the tray on the table and lifted it to his lips. Finding it empty, he held the ewer upside down over the cup. Not a drop was left.
"Damn," he shouted and threw the ewer at the wall. It shattered against the embroidered hanging and fell in wet pieces against the carpeted floor.
She gasped.
More quickly than she could catch her breath, he was at the bedside, his hands on her arms. "You were listening by the door." His words were hard as flint.
Rowena struggled in his grasp. "I was not. Until you say otherwise this is still my chamber as well as yours. And you were certainly not trying to keep the conversation private." She ceased resisting and let him pull her off the bed. To her surprise he released her.
"Did you dismiss my butler?"
"I did. He was a drunkard who did more harm than good." She lifted her chin and met his stony gaze with an icy look. " 'Twas better that than reduce him to a pigherd."
"And his brother?"
"Is still your master falconer. I am not a fool," she ground out, crossing her arms before her. "I would not punish a family for the actions of one member."
"And what of my wardrober?" Lord Rannulf took a threatening step forward.
She refused to be intimidated. "His own guilt killed him. He raided the treasury for the Lady Maeve's sake."
Her husband caught his breath as if in pain, and whirled around to lean against the hearth wall, his back to her. "How much," he managed in a strangled voice.
"Four marks in coin. If jewels are missing, I do not know, for I am not familiar with what was there. Neither do I know what he gained from the sale of our stores," she said, sitting back onto the bed. "He said he stole for the love of the Lady Maeve and that she used the knowledge of his thievery to force him to take more still." A moment passed in silence. "I understand how you might be upset with me, my lord, if all you hear are the tales brought to you by one jealous servant. Do not listen solely to her, speak with your people. They are well content. I have tried to be a good wife to you."
He jerked around, his eyes hard. "A good wife?" he spat out. "I return to find you dressed in jewels when you tell me my keep is impoverished. I see you have spared no expense in glorifying this keep when the king demands yet another round of knights' fees from me. God's teeth! I had to pay double for the dubious privilege of wedding you."
Rowena leapt to her feet. "Dubious, indeed," she snapped. "I beg you to remember that my father will pay half that fee. These gowns were mine already, and the chain only borrowed from your treasury. Restoration of the keep cost you nothing, save for my hard labor and that of your servants. Our only expense has been for the supplies I bought to feed us because the storage bins were bare. Should we have starved?"
"But you are not content to simply beggar me," his voice overrode hers, "you must also trespass into my family. Do you leave no part of my life as mine alone?"
"You gave me your leave to become a part of your life the day after our wedding. I offered you my skills and my devotion to duty. In return, you said your servants were at my disposal. I have only done as you commanded."
"You have stolen my son from me." His words were hard.
Hers were strident in denial. "Stolen your son? How foolish, of course I have not. He is in the stable feeding the pony you brought him."
"And when did you decide that I was not properly caring for him?" he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Who knows better when a child is ready for book learning or swordplay, the child's father or a convent-raised chit who's barely even borne a man between her thighs much less a child?"
She glared at him. "I may not have borne a child, but I can recognize need when I see it. Were you aware that the Lady Maeve had convinced Alais that I meant to kill the child? That stupid cow would have kept him in a barren tower room with only a single meal each day in order to protect him from me. Or, perhaps I am mistaken in thinking it Maeve's order. Perhaps, that is how you intended him to be treated. If so, what kind of parent are you? I would not let the meanest scullery lad live like that in my keep."
She yelped in pain as he again grabbed her by the arms. This time his hands bruised her. "Vicious bitch," he breathed, his voice low and dangerous.
"Let me go," she demanded.
"Mayhap pain will reach you where reason cannot." His mouth twisted in a mean line. "This marriage of ours is a mistake of the worst sort. Well, no longer. I'll not share my life with a nasty shrew whose tongue is sharper than my sword. Say farewell to Graistan this night, for on the morrow I will see you returned to Benfield."
Rowena sneered. "On what grounds? You made very certain our marriage was consummated. What of those sons you needed? You will hardly get sons from me if I am at Benfield."
"Aye, we are wed," he said coldly, "unfortunately and truly wed. I'll not contest that. As for sons, I have one. Take your pretentious airs and be the fine lady of Benfield, for I'll not have you here."
She stared. He meant it. He would take it all from her. Her heart exploded in panicked rage. "Your dirty son of a sow," she screamed as she kicked out at him. "I have nearly killed myself to bring this keep to its present state, battling hostile servants and a cruel woman without you at my side. It is not enough for you to force me into marriage, but you must belittle me before the e
ntire town of Graistan. You say I have left no part of your life untouched. Well, what of mine? You took all my hopes and desires that day. You'll not steal this from me. I will not go!"
She threw herself backward. Beneath his crushing grip the fine linen of her sleeve tore, and she slipped one arm free. But, his hand on her other arm was an iron band. His face was black with rage. He raised his hand.
"No," she cried out and lurched back. If he struck her now, surely he would kill her. In hopeless desperation, she threw herself against him. If he could not reach her, he could not hit her. Her free arm clutched around his chest. He gasped in surprise and released her. Instantly, she wrapped her other arm around him.
Only then did she see her error. He grabbed her by the shoulders. How long before he pried her away? "Do not kill me, my lord," she cried against his chest.
His breathing was shallow, his heart raced. She could feel its beat against her cheek. Mary, Mother of God, help me, she prayed. "Please," she whispered hoarsely, meaning to say more, but her voice broke; she was not accustomed to pleading.
He released her shoulders and set his hands against her waist. "Let go," he said, but the muscles of his chest were still tensed, as if to strike.
Instead, she resettled her grip, pressing herself even more tightly to him. "You will hit me" was all she whispered and cursed herself as a coward.
"Let go," he repeated, his words rumbling against her ear. "I am calm now. I will not hurt you."
A moment passed and, then, another. Still, she did not move.
He gently stroked her hair. "Let go." The palm of his hand cupped her cheek. Despite her resistance, he lifted her face up from his chest.
She kept her eyes shut and tensed for the blow that must surely follow. His fingers lay warm against her jaw. She bit her lip to stop its trembling. When he sighed, she opened her eyes just a little.
The madness had left his face, although anger remained. She saw it in the muscle that twitched along his jaw. His thumb moved slightly across her cheek. Then, his gray eyes clouded and the harsh contours of his face relaxed into something akin to acceptance.
Slowly, her arms loosened. She stepped back. Her legs trembled. "You tore my chemise," she said, her voice quiet, awed by the height of his rage.
"And lost my mind as well," he replied with a crooked grin.
She blinked, fighting sudden, unexpected tears. Her knees buckled, and she began to fall. He caught her to him. "I was afraid," she cried softly, her head cradled against his shoulder, her fingers soft against the hard contours of his chest. "I thought you would kill me."
His lips touched her forehead. "Never, never goad an angry man," he murmured, his mouth moving softly against her brow as he spoke. He leaned his head against hers.
For a long moment, they stood in silence. She knew the warm silkiness of his skin against her hand and the strength of his shoulder against her cheek. Beneath her palm she felt the steady beat of his heart.
His lips touched her cheek in a gentle kiss, then he released her and stepped back. She looked up, sorry he had moved and ended the moment. She memorized the arrogant line of his straight nose, the curve of his mouth. His cheekbones jutted high over the strong line of his jaw and chin. Dark auburn hair lay in fine curls against the strong column of his neck. Under her watchful gaze, his eyes darkened to blue and filled with an odd sadness that seemed to beg for her touch.
She raised a hand to the newly shorn hollow of his cheek. His skin was rough, yet soft beneath her palm. He shut his eyes and leaned into her caress. Her fingers traced the line of his mouth. When he kissed her fingertips, she caught her breath and would have withdrawn her hand had he not taken it in his, lacing his fingers between hers.
"Dear God in heaven, never have I been in such a rage," he breathed, slowly drawing her nearer. "You raise such passions in me." He touched his mouth to hers, his lips moving slightly in a soft kiss.
She clung to him and let the gentleness of his kiss wash over her. He wanted her. Surely, that meant he'd not send her away. Still, if she wished to secure her place at his side, she'd have to make him hers, just as she had made his home hers. Her mouth moved in response to his as her arms slipped around his neck. As she drew herself up against him, she gasped against the searing heat that filled her.
Her skin burned against his as she felt the strength of his chest against her breasts, felt his hard thighs touching hers. In dizzying response to these sensations, she forgot about walls and keeps, halls and servants. Instead, she caught her breath when his kiss deepened in defiance, as if he expected her denial. But she met his hunger with a very real need of her own.
His hand slipped inside the remnants of her gown and found her breast. He kissed her cheek, her neck, the base of her throat. Lost in the wonderful, terrible need that consumed her, Rowena ran her hands over the broad planes of his chest until she felt the soft linen of his chausses. He made a quiet sound of pleasure when her fingers played along the drawstring waist.
There was a tap at the door. "My lord," a servant called out, "we cannot find your lady. Shall we begin a search?"
He straightened. She stared up at him. Slowly, slowly, he smiled, his look fierce with desire. "Never mind," he said, his gaze trapping hers as he eased the torn gown off her shoulder. The garment fell into a pile around her ankles. She wore nothing beneath it. He drew a quick breath. "I have found her."
Deep in sleep, Rowena pulled at the bedclothes. They were caught somewhere near the end of the bed. It took a moment to open her eyes. She peered hopelessly toward the foot of the bed, but the darkness was nearly absolute, as they'd let the fire die and forgotten to light the night candle.
Her outstretched hand found her husband's shoulder. He shifted slightly at her touch. The memory of their bed play made her shiver. At the center of her being awoke a throbbing need that she knew only he could ease. She bit her lip and mentally recited a prayer of protection for her heart. Would this time be like the last? In the morning, would he once again be the cold, hard man he'd been after their wedding night? Oh, dear Lord, but he might still send her away. She clenched her eyes shut on that thought. Did he not realize that this was now her home, too?
Perhaps, as he understood and saw all she had done for him, he would like her better. Aye, if she guarded her tongue and did as he bid until he'd grown accustomed to her, he would come to accept her.
She crept from the bed and brought a burning splinter back from the solar and set it to the wick of the thick night candle. Even though it stood near the head of the bed, its meager flame was enough to show her the bedclothes bundled near the bottom of the mattress.
Its pale illumination touched her husband's face. She smiled. The resemblance between him and his son was so remarkable. It could not be so hard to care for the father when she already loved the son. Then, her smile faded. The very thought of losing Jordan broke her heart. Even if rejection and pain were the price she paid, her husband must never send her away. Graistan must be hers for all time. Resolved, she slid back into the tall bed forgetting to retrieve the bedclothes.
Her husband opened his eyes just a little later. "Why did you leave?" he murmured.
"I was cold and could not find the bedclothes in the dark," she whispered back, sliding down beside him.
"Impossible." He grinned slightly. "There is nothing cold about you."
"Do not tease me," she whispered in shy embarrassment. He only chuckled and put his arm beneath her to draw her near. When he nuzzled her ear, his warm breath set her skin to shivering. Her arms slipped around him when he set his lips to the spot behind her ear, and she eased downward until their hips met. His shaft moved in new life. She caught her breath as her body answered with its own desire. There was great pleasure in knowing she could wring this reaction from him.
"Who is the tease now," he said hoarsely against her ear. His free hand slipped into her hair to cradle her head and turn her face to his. Their lips briefly met, then he rolled back down against the mat
tress as if to escape her. But she did not release him. Instead, she came to rest on her side against him.
He sighed. She did not yet know him well enough to read his expression, yet he seemed troubled by something. He combed her hair with his fingers as though distracted. "Why did you lay with me? After I threatened you with violence, why—?" He seemed ready to ask more, but his whisper died into silence as his fingers descended the peak of her breast.
"I—" she started, barely breathing the word as his hand left her breast and his fingers drew curving lines against her stomach. "I—" She caught her breath as his hand slid lower still to find her soft woman's flesh between her thighs. "I, oh, I cannot think when you do that." She kissed his throat, needing to touch him somewhere to release the lovely pressure he awoke.
"That," he said with a smile, his fingers once again teasing her breast, "is answer enough." She shivered in response, then lay back in the mattress. It took only the slightest tug to convince him he should lay atop her. When she lifted her hips in invitation, he made her wait an exquisitely long time before he finally accepted.
Rannulf was awake long after his wife had dropped into contented slumber. She lay in the curve of his arm, her breathing even and peaceful, long strands of her hair falling across his chest. In all his life he had never once raised his hand in anger toward a woman, not even Isotte. Until this night he had not believed himself to be capable of such violence. But this spit of a girl had goaded him until he had near destroyed her in his rage.
Not only had she taunted him, her rage had met and matched his. As her anger, so her passion. He closed his eyes as his body reacted pleasurably to that thought. On the heels of pleasure came doubt.
If she were still the innocent she'd been on their wedding night, she should have cowered from him after he'd threatened her very life. Instead, she'd met him willingly, even wantonly, as though she truly desired him. Was this simply passionate innocence or something more calculating? If so, then for that purpose did she seek to use him? Could it be she was already with child and could now claim the babe his, but "born too soon"?
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