A Time for Love

by Lynn Kurland

  And he hoped he wasn’t about to make a colossal mistake.

  16

  “You’re what?”

  Anne winced at the force of that thunderous shout.

  “Be silent, you fool! Say nothing else until I’ve made certain you haven’t woken Anne.”

  Anne held her breath. It was very difficult to feign sleep with Robin coming over to stare at her and muttering under his breath loudly enough for the entire chamber to hear. One day she would have to tell him he did that when he thought too hard. She suspected he didn’t know, and would likely have been highly irritated to learn of it. It gave away far too many of his secret thoughts.

  Robin cursed as he stomped away.

  “I’ve already decided this,” he whispered sharply.

  “Robin, you cannot be serious!”

  Anne wished she had heard Robin’s initial declaration, but damn him if he hadn’t found it in him to whisper then. She had a feeling without hearing anything else that Nicholas had it aright. Whatever new strategy Robin had proposed could be nothing but madness.

  She shifted on the bed and her body set up a clamor that fair left her gasping. And with that renewed wash of pain came back all the ill feelings she had acquired for the acting lord of Artane.

  She despised him. She loathed him. She never wanted to feel his hands on her again. And she especially never wanted to be crushed beneath his heel again, as if she’d been a particularly noisome species of insect he was bent on destroying.

  “’Tis the only way.” Robin’s deep voice was firm.

  “Have you gone mad?” Nicholas continued, sounding as if he fully believed that his brother had accomplished the like. “Her father will slay you if he learns. Not to mention what ours will do!”

  “By St. George’s throat, Nick, I’m not about to bed her,” Robin retorted.

  “I should hope not. She’s a virgin, for pity’s sake—”

  “She’s the same as a sister to me—”

  “Merde,” Nicholas snapped. “She is not your sister and keeping her prisoner in this chamber is equal to fornication, you fool! Do you for one moment believe anyone will think her virtue unmarred once they discover she’s spent the night in your bed?”

  “Saints, Nick, it isn’t as if I’ll be joining her,” Robin growled. “I’ll sleep here before the fire. Her precious virtue will remain unsullied by my filthy hands.”

  “Let her sleep with us—”

  “Nay! She’ll stay with me. I’m the only one here who can protect her.”

  “Ha,” Nicholas said scornfully. “I’m perfectly capable of doing it. Indeed, I think I might be a better choice.”

  “When I’m dead,” Robin snarled. “And not a moment before. Your task is to see that Amanda and Isabelle are kept safe. Give the girls the bed. The lads can sleep on the floor.”

  “I still say we should all remain together!”

  “And I say we shouldn’t!”

  There was silence for a goodly amount of time and Anne began to wonder if Nicholas and Robin were looking at each other, trying to decide where to cut first. And then Nicholas spoke.

  “I see,” he said quietly.

  “You see nothing.”

  “You’ll not see this end as you wish it, Robin.”

  “Won’t I?”

  “You will not. I fully intend to woo her.”

  “And as I continue to tell you, Nick, she isn’t yours to woo.”

  “Why not? Think you she’s yours?”

  When the sun falls from the sky and turns us all to ashes, Anne thought sourly. Robin of Artane was the very last person she intended to be wooed by—as if he would make the effort to do the like!

  “Post a guard outside where you sleep,” Robin said. “Should anyone attempt an attack, they’ll find themselves facing a sword, not a sleeping idiot. You can manage that, can’t you?”

  “Your confidence in my skill is nothing short of staggering, my lord.”

  “Saints, Nick, someone tried to kill Anne not once but thrice! This is not a matter for jest.”

  Nicholas grunted. “I was not making it such. And as far as this other business is concerned, I like it not at all.”

  Anne didn’t either, but saying as much would tell the men that she’d heard everything they’d said and she had no intentions of that.

  “It matters not to me what you like.”

  “I have not given up my fight,” Nicholas said. “Her father certainly prefers me to you.”

  “He doesn’t know you very well,” Robin snapped.

  “I’ll make it a point to see that he does—”

  “Oh, by the saints, will you cease!” Robin exclaimed. “Go do something useful, such as finding us a meal. I daresay Anne will be hungry when she wakes and doubtless too weary to move. Feed a taste of everything to the dogs first. Who knows who this cur will choose as his next victim.”

  Nicholas sighed deeply. “Aye, you have that aright.”

  “And help me off with this mail before you go.”

  “Ah, demoted to his little lordship’s squire. Rob, how I do love being your brother.”

  Anne heard Nicholas lose his breath with a whoosh and prayed he wouldn’t retaliate. Truly, pretending she was sleeping through a brawl would have been more than she could have managed.

  There was a muffled thump and a sigh. “Better.”

  “Must I help you with your boots also? And need I mention that strutting about Father’s bedchamber naked would be something I would certainly have to take a blade to you for?”

  “I’ll endeavor not to offend Anne with my sorry form. I would appreciate something to eat. Now.”

  “I’ll return with a meal and stay to see if it agrees with Anne.”

  “You’ll deliver it, then go. I do not need your aid in seeing her fed.”

  There was a goodly bit of silence after that and Anne wondered if they were trying to glare each other into submission. Well, at least there was no ringing of blades as of yet.

  And then Nicholas sighed heavily. “I think you’re making a mistake.”

  “I’ve no doubt you do.”

  “You’ll not have her, Robin.”

  Robin only grunted. Anne listened to them both cross to the door, then heard the footsteps pause.

  “And be forewarned,” Nicholas said. “You’ll repay me for my serving you thusly. Fetching meals,” he grumbled. “Acting the squire. Saints, I’m past all that!”

  The door opened, then closed softly. Anne remained motionless, listening to Robin rustle about the chamber. There was the sound of steel against wood as she assumed he had laid his mail shirt over a chair perhaps, or a trunk. Then she heard two distinct thumps—his boots coming off perhaps. Muted footsteps crossed the room, then she heard the rustling and popping of a fire being brought back to life. The scrape of a stool across the floor sounded overloud to her ears and she took advantage of the following sigh to roll over so she faced the fire. She waited until silence had descended again before she opened one eye a slit and looked to see what Robin was about.

  He sat facing the fire, with his back to her. His head hung down, leaving only the thick hair flowing over his neck exposed to her view. His broad, bare shoulders were hunched, his long, muscled back bowed. He looked enormously weary. And, for a small moment, she had the urge to go to him, to put her hands on his shoulders and work the stiffness out of them, to drag her fingers through his hair and soothe him.

  But nay, Robin wouldn’t care for that. Even in his youth, he’d never cared for it. Nicholas, on the other hand, had dropped everything at even a hint that she or Amanda might be willing to scratch any part of his person. Robin had shunned anything like such petting, calling it a most unmanly pursuit. Nicholas had always called him a fool for missing out on such lazy delights. Anne had wondered if Robin secretly longed for such affection, but he had never relented.

  And he wouldn’t relent tonight. He would likely shrug off her hands and bark some unfeeling curse at her. And it wo
uld wound her, as it always did.

  Or as it would have in the past, she corrected herself. Now, it wouldn’t bother her. Since she had protected herself with this newfound dislike for the young lord of Artane, his derision and shunning of her wouldn’t hurt her in the slightest. Indeed, it would only confirm the opinion she should have had of him from the first. He was an unfeeling worm of a man with no heart and no chivalry. A gallant knight did not crush his lady in the dirt, then leave her there to pick herself up. Nay, she would have no part of a man who possessed such poor manners.

  Then why did the fact that he had saved her life, albeit roughly, make her want to weep?

  Another knock sounded on the door and Anne immediately closed her eyes. She remained perfectly still as Robin answered the door.

  “Guards?” Robin asked.

  “Your own men,” Nicholas said quietly. “At this door, and the lads’ chamber down the passageway. Jason will come here as well.”

  “What of Sir Edward?”

  “Weeping in the dungeon,” Nicholas said, with disgust. “A pitiful excuse for a knight if ever I saw one.”

  “Leave him there,” Robin said curtly. “Perhaps it will loosen his tongue.”

  “He swears he had nothing to do with this.”

  “Do you believe him?” Robin asked.

  “He’s one of Father’s men. I can’t imagine this kind of disloyalty.”

  “Well,” Robin said with a heavy sigh, “leave him there for a day or two and let us see if aught else happens. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve a lady to protect and I don’t need your aid.”

  “Robin, I still don’t know about this—”

  “I know what I’m doing. Your task is to see to the rest of the ruse. And have a care with Amanda. Wouldn’t want the wench to die before I have a few more goes at her backside.”

  Nicholas snorted. “I’ll be sure and give her your best, brother.”

  “You fed some of this meal to the dogs?”

  “Aye, and all are still breathing.”

  “Good enough.”

  Anne heard the door close, then watched him walk over to the hearth and set down a basket full of food she could smell from where she was. It had been hours since she had last eaten and her belly protested the delay rather loudly.

  “Anne?”

  She realized he was looking at her and she knew feigning sleep was foolish. “Aye?”

  “Come eat,” he said, turning his back on her and sitting on the floor.

  Ah, such a paragon of chivalry. She sat up, wincing at the way her body protested such a simple act. She felt as if she’d been beaten. Or flattened by a very heavy, mailed knight. Perhaps being struck by the mace would have been less agony than this. She pushed herself up from the mattress, swayed, then regained her balance with a quick step forward, one that rattled her teeth. She shuffled across the floor carefully, too angry at Robin’s rudeness to be embarrassed by her ungainly walk. The least he could have done was rise off his slothful backside and offer her his arm!

  He didn’t even look up as she stood next to him, trying to decide the best way to reach the floor short of falling. Robin made a sound of impatience.

  “Sit down, Anne.”

  She gritted her teeth. “I’m trying.”

  “You’re dawdling.”

  “Damn you, Robin, you could help me!”

  He looked up at her and his eyes were dark, so dark she couldn’t tell their color. “You don’t like to be coddled, so I’m not coddling you. Sit down and eat, Anne, while there’s aught to spare.”

  She wanted to strike him. Aye, she didn’t want to be coddled, but she wouldn’t have scorned a gallantly offered hand now and then. She blinked back tears of frustration and looked for something with which to lower herself. If she bent her leg without something to hold on to, it would have collapsed under her. Her body was sore enough without any new bruises. She took hold of the heavy stone of the hearth and used it as a crutch, holding herself up with it while she knelt on her good leg, her lame leg stretched out in front of her. She scraped her hands on the stone, but at least she made it to the floor without mishap.

  Other than losing her pride on the way down.

  She scooted back to where Robin was sitting and glared at him. He averted his face hastily.

  So she sickened him. At the moment, she couldn’t have cared less. She hated him. She repeated that over and over in her head as she helped herself to roast fowl and bread, washing it down with wine contained in a bottle she took right out of Robin’s hands. And when she was finished, she moved to her right a bit, so she could face her captor.

  “I don’t want to stay here with you.”

  He looked into the flames. “You needn’t fear for your virtue.”

  Anne laughed bitterly. “Ah, as if that mattered. You know as well as I that my virtue or lack thereof will never come to light. No man would have me anyway.”

  “Daft wench,” Robin muttered.

  “Men do not purchase lame wives for themselves.”

  “Silence,” he said sharply, fixing his gaze to hers. “You speak foolishness.”

  Anne lifted her chin. “The truth is, I do not wish to stay here, because I can’t stomach being in the same chamber with you.”

  “Your alternative is likely death. I daresay you can endure me if the other is your choice.”

  “I would prefer death,” she said haughtily.

  He dashed the contents of his cup into the flames, setting up a sharp hiss. “Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” he said. He jumped to his feet, jerked on his boots, and snagged a tunic from off the back of a chair.

  The door banged shut behind him.

  Anne turned back and looked into the fire dispassionately, pointedly ignoring the sting behind her eyes. Robin’s every movement, his every breath spoke of his distaste, his revulsion for her. And why not? Why would he ever feel anything else where she was concerned? Though he certainly had frightened off the more timid heiresses in England, the bold ones hadn’t been fearful.

  Tales of his mischief had reached her ears, tales from court, tales from the continent. Rhys had been furious over the bastards Robin had sired, though he was certain the number had been exaggerated. What did it matter if it had? She had seen some of the women who had bragged of having Robin in their beds. Beautiful, elegant women who were perfectly formed, perfectly coiffed, perfectly mannered. And not a one of them had walked with a limp. Why would he ever have looked at her, when those were the choices offered him?

  Besides, Nicholas wanted her. Hadn’t he said as much? Hadn’t he courted her father with more enthusiasm than Robin had likely ever used for anything but a pitched battle?

  It made it all the more unfortunate that Nicholas was not the brother she loved.

  She closed her eyes, ignoring the tears that crept from beneath her eyelids.

  17

  Robin leaned back against the door and let his breath out slowly. Then he realized there were guards leaning against the opposite wall. Perfect. That was all he needed to add to his irritation—tidings of his bewildered state being bandied about the garrison hall. He straightened and gave them his most lordly look.

  “No one enters,” he commanded.

  “My lord?” Jason asked from where he appeared at Robin’s side.

  “Stay here,” Robin said. “Watch over the lady Anne.”

  Jason nodded with wide eyes. Robin turned to his guard, received more nods, then turned off down the passageway before he did anything else foolish. At least the guards were his own men so they could be intimidated if necessary. And they were men he trusted. Anne would be safe enough by herself. Indeed, now that he’d had more chance to think about it, he suspected that she might be safer without him. The only thing he knew with certainty was that he would be rotting in Hell before Nicholas was alone with Anne in that chamber.

  Robin stomped down the steps, wishing he could unclench his jaw but knowing it was useless to try. His anger was too near the sur
face for that. By all the bloody saints, what was Nicholas about? He didn’t love Anne, of that Robin was sure. But Nicholas wasn’t cruel, so Robin also had to concede that his brother wouldn’t be toying with her for his own sport. And he wouldn’t use Anne to torment Robin.

  It was a damned perplexing snarl.

  Well, at least there were a few things Robin could understand. One was that his sire would be away for at least a month and that meant Geoffrey of Fenwyck would be gone for at least that long as well. Perhaps in that time he could invent a strategy to improve his standing with Anne’s sire.

  The other problem was who to watch over Anne while Robin saw to the business of the keep. His earlier vows aside, he knew it would be impossible for him to remain with her every moment of each day. Someone would have to be recruited to take on the duty whilst Robin was about his affairs.

  But ’twas for damned sure it wouldn’t be Nicholas. Robin suspected Miles might be equal to the task, so that was something to think on. Miles would likely find Anne more amenable to his company anyway.

  And that reminded him of Anne’s last words and he found himself scowling. So she couldn’t bear his company. She might change her mind when she came face-to-face with a sword. Indeed, she might discover that she needed him after all. But for himself, what he needed was a goodly amount of ale. Perhaps that would drown out her slanders.

  He found his brother sitting alone in front of the hearth, a cup in his own hands. Robin sat down across from him and reached for the jug. He assumed by the way his brother continued to breathe that the brew was safe enough.

  Only once he had a cup of ale in his hands, he found that his taste for it had disappeared. He stared into the fire and didn’t fight the realizations that seemed determined to catch up with him.

  Someone was trying to kill Anne.

  Anne would have rather died than stay in the same chamber with him.

  And Nicholas was likely in higher favor with Anne’s sire than he was.

  It had been, Robin decided grimly, a decidedly unpleasant day.